


The Eradication: 2086

by emma_and_orlando



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alpha!John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Discrimination, Dystopia, Hospitals and Procedures, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Omega!Roger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 52,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29428416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma_and_orlando/pseuds/emma_and_orlando
Summary: Roger has one shot at a better life, but on the one condition that he marries a stranger and has a child with him.Everything to repopulate the world.
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 78
Kudos: 68
Collections: Meant To Be: The Soulmate Challenge





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This goes out to the amazing [Catherine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaibrows/pseuds/chaibrows) and wonderful [Lewsie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grahamcockroach/pseuds/grahamcockroach)
> 
> Thank you Team Fairy Kings, Catherine for being a great beta for this awfully long monster and lewsie for making amazing art pieces for the story. I couldn't have had a better team with better results. 
> 
> You can find the wonderful art here: [The Eradication: 2086](https://grahamcockroach.tumblr.com/post/643116571690221568/heyyy-i-finally-get-to-post-these-ha-i-did-these)
> 
> I just wanted to make a note at the start of the story, which is that **John is not abusive or taking advantage of Roger** at any point during the story. The first chapter will be a prologue but the other chapters won't be in italics or that short. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, Happy Valentines Day and don't forget to check out the art!

_First, there was the flood._

_Entire countries and major cities bordering the world's main rivers disappeared completely under the water surface, never to be salvaged._

_Then disaster struck as Yellowstone Volcano erupted and most of Northern America had been wiped out by the blow alone._

_The ashes travelled and had shadowed the skies, even in Europe. Without the nourishing sun, the crops had died and solar energy failed. The ashes altered the climate, plummeting the global temperature significantly. Disease followed the inevitable famine, the death toll climbing until there was nowhere to put all the bodies, but one got used to the rotting smell. Populations thinned out, fertility rates decreased and human civilization fell._

_Today, those who had survived call it the Eradication._

_Human civilization had hung by a thin thread long before the flood and the Yellowstone Volcano eruption. Humankind had been living on borrowed time. In fact, its downfall had been predicted for many centuries._

_That didn't make the end easier._

_Roger was only a child when it all happened. Still, he had not been too young to have the image of thick dust blanketing over England engraved in his memory. Direct sunlight had disappeared for over a year and the polluted atmosphere had become unbreathable._

_The immediate results of the ashes were devastating. World wide harvests failed or became unedible after exposure to the ashes. The poor and vulnerable, like Roger's younger sister Clare, died swift in the global famine that followed._

_He remembers burying his sister in his uncle's backyard. He'd insisted on helping to dig the shallow grave when he could still spare the energy. The emergency food packages from the government had stopped coming in weeks before her death. Those of them who didn't die had survived from eating the stinging nettles that grew in the garden._

_In death, his sister had looked nothing like the colourful girl who would fashion her hair in pink ribbons and shoulder-length plaits. Her dry, flaking skin had clung to her jutting bones, her blonde hair thinned out and her eyes hadn't been opened for over a week._

_Roger was the last to have a coherent conversation with her before she had fallen into her dreamless coma._

_Thin and sickly bodies lined up the streets in the neighbourhood when people stopped bothering with digging graves. The smell of rotting bodies spread across the United Kingdom and crept into every corner of every house in each block._

_As organized governments collapsed and malnourished humans in desperation began to consume everything remotely edible around them, bacteria transmitted from rodents to people caused the final blow to the human race. Epidemic disease._

_That was when Roger lost the rest of his family, including his wonderful mother._

_Roger was nine years old when his uncle, the last one of his relatives died from the disease and an elderly woman caught him trying to drag his uncle's limp body out on the streets to join the rest of the rotting pile. The woman, worn thin and shaking with determination, had taken him by the hand and put him on a train to Ukraine, the last European settlement._

_The Donetsk settlement was the largest known human settlement left in the world and housed a few thousand people, perhaps 55.000 at its maximum capacity._

_Donetsk was a disciplined settlement that focused heavily on agriculture for survival. Roger was put to work before he'd had his first meal stepping off the train._

_He remembers working every single day since, to meet his quotas and get his share of the cultivated food by the end of the day._

_They all slept in large tents on rugs made of old clothes sewn together to resemble thin blankets. Strangers were forced to huddle together against the cold nights. During the summers, when they were still cramped in the tents, their sweat sticky skin still rubbed uncomfortably. At night, Roger always dreamt vividly of his mother and how her cold her hands were on the day she died from the Disease. He often recalls how his uncle had smacked him across the face for touching someone who'd contracted It. Not that it had mattered. Roger was one of the few who had survived the plague and had already gained immunity._

_He always dreamt about how his mother and sister were identical in their pale thin appearances in death._

_Even though he was nine years old, there was nobody there to dry his tears or lie to him, by saying that everything was going to be alright. He would stare up at the white plastic ceiling of the enormous emergency tents and feel deeply hollow inside._

_For a long time, Roger did not understand why he was alive._


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger's life could be changed if he plays his cards right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the real actual beginning of the story! It’s the longest chapter but please enjoy

"Roger Meddows Taylor?"

Although nobody else is wearing one inside, Roger doesn't remove his mask. Nor does he offer a verbal response to the call.

The other people in the waiting room, who have been there longer than he has, glare daggers at him when he rises up to his feet and follows after the young nurse.

She leads him through a pair of heavy steel doors that open when she holds her wrist to a red scanner.

His surprise at the working technology doesn't show from behind his mask.

It has been years since Roger has been inside an actual building that has not visibly decayed since the fall of civilization. 

This building resembles a real clinic, kept clean and pristine like the hospitals Roger remembers from when he was a child. His combat boots cause an abrasive echo on the white tiled floor and he can almost see his reflection in it.

Nurses pass them by, wearing tiny white outfits and comfortable flats that expose large areas of their skin.

All their faces are bare in an odd display of beauty that imperils them to the air that Roger had always been told was toxic. 

He had spotted several tubes and pipes leading across the ceilings. His theory is that they have built a highly advanced filtering system that keeps that radioactive air outside.

This makes him wonder who exactly is behind this entire organization and how they got this entire facility together in these rancid times.

They enter a long hallway of countless identical doors. 

When they come to an abrupt halt, the nurse checks if they are in the right place, before scanning her wrist again to let him inside.

His skin feels tight around his skull and his fingers itch with nervous energy. 

She must have noticed his hesitation. She makes a motion for Roger to step through the opening, alone.

"Come on in and have a seat. The doctor will be with you shortly- Don't touch anything."

She holds the door open long enough for Roger to look inside the room, also white, practical and sparsely decorated. He takes in the stark ceiling and windowless walls, and steel grey furniture that sends a chill down his spine.

He is only halfway inside when the door closes abruptly and he is left alone.

Conflict arises within him while he assesses the situation, too agitated to sit down, he stands stiff and awkwardly in the middle of the room.

He looks around and recognises more evidence of technology advanced as it had been before the Eradication. The purpose of the devices are unknown to him, but the fact that these people here are in possession of heavy eletrical machines is something Roger has not seen in over a decade. This and the chip in the woman's arm are technology his mother used to tell him about when he asked questions about the life 'before'.

He had travelled here, knowing that they are recruiting people for a new settlement, a better settlement.

Their technology is something that promises great things; functioning hospitals and working electricity promise a permanent settlement with the same facilities. 

Donetsk does not offer any such luxuries.

But Roger has become wiser and more cynical in this life. He knows that there comes a price with getting to use someone's resources.

He, like most people, doesn't have much to offer other than his body for manual labour. News about this clinic spread like wildfire in Donetsk, faster than new outbreaks of the epidemic disease. Many people like him had wanted to see what other options were out there. But Roger had seen the majority of hopeful souls return from this place with their tails between their legs, picking up their flails to work the Ukrainian fields again.

Many got rejected. Perhaps because they didn't have anything to offer for this settlement, and neither does Roger, really.

A soft beeping sound announces the door behind him opening.

Roger turns around to watch a maskless elderly man, lanky and poorly aged, in a long white lab coat enter the room and address his awkward presence with a solid head-bow.

"Roger Taylor," He says, voice sounding gruff in hurry. "Nice to meet you, I am doctor Darnell, I'll be performing your tests today."

Roger does not particularly care about pleasantries with strangers, but he is fully aware that this particular one might be his ticket to paradise, so he makes sure to incline his head towards him in the politest possible manner.

"Good afternoon." His reply is muffled from behind the mask.

The doctor walks around Roger to approach the steel table to prepare his set of tools with an absentminded automatism that gives the impression that he does this several times every day.

His back is turned to Roger now that he fiddles around, while Roger's back is starting to ache from standing still.

After everything seems to be prepared and put in place, the doctor finally looks at him from over his shoulder, as if to check if Roger is still there.

"You can remove your mask and coat, it is easier to do the examination and interview that way. Do not worry, the ventilation in this building filters the radioactive particles out of the air. Quite nifty, hey? And I clean the tools thoroughly after they've come in contact with someone carrying the disease. Please do remove your items, or at least the coat, and roll up your sleeve so we can do the examination. We don't have all day."

It feels both unsafe and unnatural to remove his double set of coats underneath the rubber raincoat while he's out in front of a stranger.

The cold in the room hits him instantly and he starts to shiver. Nevertheless, when the doctor approaches him with a syringe in one hand and an elastic band in the other, Roger is asked to remove his gloves as well.

Roger can't remember the last time a real doctor had examined him or the last time another human being touched him deliberately.

"What's this for?" He asks when he complies by exposing his sickly pale arm to the doctor. Darnell turns his hand over and places the elastic band around it. His hands are surprisingly warm. Roger bites his lip.

The doctor uses an alcohol wipe after identifying a vein, he swabs the area clean before placing the needle where it will penetrate the skin.

"This is to extract your blood and find out a little more about you and your health."

"Nothing I can just tell you?" Roger dares to ask.

At least it makes the doctor smile wryly when he slides the needle in. It just feels like a slight pinch but Roger can't look away when he extracts the blood with the pump.

"Nothing I can trust without scientific evidence." Darnell says instead, waiting impatiently for this pump to fill up. "Lots of desperate people do lots of lying. It is inevitable. So we only want to be sure."

Roger hums and is forced to wait on swaying legs for the doctor to withdraw the needle and slap a plaster on where a droplet of blood squeezes out of the tiny wound.

He takes the syringe to the examination table behind his desk after motioning for Roger to sit down in the empty chair.

Roger hunkers down in relief of his aching knees and waits with twiddling fingers while the doctor performs several tests on the blood with his back firmly turned to Roger, preventing him from seeing anything that is being done.

"Your age?" The doctor casually asks while he works.

"Twenty-four," Roger replies just as easily. The passage of time was becoming harder and harder to keep track of as years progressed, but twenty-four would be a good guess, although the basis of seasons and calendars were all overthrown with the changing environment and the end of functioning government. "Likely."

"Time appears to have become quite lucid in other settlements," Darnell murmurs as he works. "Surviving family? Spouses or partner?"

"None and no," Roger answers past the bitterness in his throat.

Humming. "Many losses indeed... The test should be almost done."

"Seems fast."

His comment amuses the doctor. He casts one final look over his shoulder, before the tests are all finished, just to say, "Not everyone has fallen into despair. Humans have their way- their primal instinct to survive, but also to develop and adapt. That's what we are doing in Nagar."

There is one thing Roger learned from living in the post-apocalyptic world, which is that one does not survive alone.

Rapid blood testing is not something Roger imagined he would see again in his lifetime. Before the disaster broke out, technology had come extraordinarily far. Far enough that people had held out hope that it could prevent the DoomsDay many had believed was inevitable. And they were right. 

Roger never got to enjoy advanced technology.

"You're an Omega then."

The doctor sits down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He's looking down at a data-pad. Some kind of thin, glass screened tablet with the test results. He looks up at Roger with a raised eyebrow, as if he had asked a question rather than made a blunt statement.

Before the end of all things, Omega rights were still under attack by many political parties and ideologies, but Roger never suffered from discrimination.

After he had survived the disease, his scent had faded along with his chance of becoming fertile during puberty.

In Donetsk, he hadn't told anyone that he had been born an Omega. He never had to disclose this information with anyone. 

It wasn't as if he could have any children or that anyone else could. Survivors of the disease were never able to conceive children. So one's status as an Omega became easy to hide and therefore, unimportant.

After a long, uneasy silence, Roger finally replies, "Yes." He knows he can't lie with the bloodwork, but he is afraid of saying something that will cost him his chance at this settlement, the better settlement.

"You've had the disease?" The doctor continues without pausing. Roger nods again, this time matching the fast pace of the interview.

"As a child."

The virus kills nearly every single one of those infected. Very few survive its initial attack. Then that very small percentage of people who actually live after contracting the disease remain infertile.

"You build up immunity for the disease according to the bloodwork, which is good. We don't want people getting sick in our settlement while we are still working on finding an effective cure... It did leave you infertile like other survivors." The doctor lowers his tablet to look at him. Roger somehow suspects the old man can see straight through his mask. "Ever released any pheromones? Have you menstruated?"

"No. Neither of those."

The tablet is lowered onto the table and finally, the doctor settles back into the chair, crossing his arms with a thoughtful (even smug, perhaps? It is hard to tell) look that makes Roger warier of the situation he has found himself in.

Even though the doctor looks confident in what he is about to say, that doesn't mean that it couldn't be bad news for Roger.

"We are going to rebuild civilization from a secret location that cannot be flooded by outsiders, who may still be carrying the disease or bring havoc upon our systems. In Nagar, we have fresh drinking water, harvest surpluses, and a city powered by electricity along with modern technology as advanced as we should have been without the disasters of the Eradication. You will not be required to do manual labour again, as I know is common in the Ukrainian settlement, Donetsk. How does that sound?"

 _Sounds too good to be true_.

Roger mirrors his body language by crossing his arms and forcing his body to relax when he asks, "What is the catch?"

The corners of the doctors' lips turn upwards. "Have you ever wanted children, Roger?"

 _No_ , Roger thinks.

He looks the man right in the eye and searches his gaze for what would have been the desired response to this fundamental question.

Without hesitating again, Roger nods, once. "Yes. I do."

"You can join us, if you wish, through the reproduction program."

He slides Roger a folder that had been waiting on the table unsuspiciously. On the front, a young woman with dark eyes and beautiful curls is depicted, cupping the swell of her obviously pregnant belly.

He isn't sure how to react to the text on the folder, knowing that this was the inevitable rejection.

> _Nagar's Reproduction Program_

"You're recruiting people to bear children..." His stomach drops but he forces himself not to look away. "I am infertile."

It seems to be hard for doctor Darnell to keep the smile from spreading across his cheeks. Roger tries not to instantly get his hopes up.

"We have reason to believe we know how to cure the infertility caused by the disease and through new discoveries, we have found a way to trigger the necessary pheromones for soulbonding, which increases fertility by tenfold."

Roger holds the folder a little tighter. The edges of the paper wrinkle between his fingers. "What does this mean?"

"It's simple, really. You are young and in good health despite the circumstances. You see hope in this world, you _want_ children." The last part is important. Roger isn't the best in reading faces, but the way that the scientists' eyes soften is universally understandable. 

"You can join us in Nagar, if you like."

Roger swallows thickly, before he nods his head once. "Yes."

"Our offer stands only if you join through our outstanding reproductive program, designed to couple Omega's like yourself with an Alpha. So that you will provide our settlement with a child. Through our program and our advanced science, we can artificially bond you with an Alpha."

He pushes the folder closer towards Roger's face, as if to force him to read the information on there.

"The boat leaves from the Last Docks in the Black Sea. Do you know how to get there?" Roger nods dumbly, still trying to process everything that is being said. "Good. If you wish to join us, if you want to better the quality of your life, if you truly want your wish for a child to come true, be there before Friday at noon, which is when we leave."

The doctor's words swim around in his head like a dizzying fuss.

 _Artificial mating. Reproduction. Impregnation_. 

An overwhelming sense of unease settles low in Roger's belly. He is both nauseous and extremely hopeful at once. It almost prevents him from asking the right questions and not screwing up this once in a lifetime opportunity.

"I have to agree to mate someone? Someone I can choose?"

"The program will choose."

Roger swallows thickly. His unease reaches new levels of discomfort. The idea of getting impregnated by a stranger makes him sick.

"Sometimes there is a selection of Alpha's for you to pick from, but that is not a guarantee," the doctor further explains. "You will go through the medication and fertility surgery as soon as possible so we can start repopulating before it is too late."

"...And have a baby for the settlement?"

"For humanity," the doctor says, "but don't worry, Roger. The child will be yours and yours to raise, we won't take it from you once it is born. We are simply asking you to have them and raise them in our settlement."

Before today, Roger had never considered the thought of having children of his own. 

Hell, a child hasn't been born in over fifteen years in his current settlement. Roger never even had his first period. 

Agreeing to a child now, so suddenly and so alone, he finds it impossible.

Yet another part of him has serious doubts that these people could perform a miracle like fertility and artificial soulbonding. It seems far fetched and rather ambitious. It's not the same as installing a ventilation system in an old building.

"We must survive, Roger. We have the technology to do so." Doctor Darnell continues in utter faith of the process. Roger does not have faith. He doesn't want to be back to square one if the miracle science doesn't work.

"Will I be allowed to stay even if the surgery and medication are ineffective for my body?" He asks after he had been silent for too long again.

His distrust seems to light a fire of glee in the doctor's eyes.

"As long as you follow the program you will remain welcome in Nagar. You will have a roof over your head and food in your belly, real clothes, electricity, and a child to rebuild your family. Your life will never be the same again, if you come to the Last Docks."

"T-that's what I want," Roger stammers. Feeling helpless with desperation. His heart is hammering. "That's what I need."

"Good."

When the doctor asks for his hand and gets out a tool ready that looks an awful lot like a gun, pointed at his thick delicate veins in his wrists, Roger nods feverishly in agreement, before a chip is shot underneath the skin with a sickening squelch.

It hurts, and he nearly bites through his tongue to keep himself from yelping in pain when the doctor presses his thumb to the fresh wound to check its location.

When the doctor pulls back, the chip is located far beneath his skin and lodged in one place.

"All your data is on there. The chip is personalized so the system knows who you are. Your second sex, your height and weight, medical history- basically everything I have just told you. It also has my sign of approval that permits you to go onboard. They will scan it when you get on the boat, to make sure you're not just trying to sneak in." Another piece of paper appears, alongside a pencil. It is slid over at him from across the table. Roger's hand is still stinging and buzzing with pain from the chip implant when he reaches for it.

"Fill out this consent form. Consenting to be part of the program, the artificial mating, the medication, diets, impregnation. All of it. We can't let you in without your explicit consent."

Without signing himself over.

-

Roger is only twenty-four, but his body suffers the consequences of his years of hard labour in the Donetsk settlement.

They mostly farm grain in large fields without modern equipment at their disposal. Manual labour has made his hands tough from healed blisters and rough from deep cuts. His knees are shattered with age, joints and bones grinding together day in and day out. The muscles in his back and shoulders are tight from overuse and the tissue is damaged for life.

Farming is an all year round occupation.

In the winters when the weather drops to freezing temperatures, they still go out into the fields. People who don't wrap up warm enough lose toes, ears, and fingers.

Work never stops.

Dehydration is the enemy in the summers, cracked lips and sweat drenched clothes. There is never water to spare on cleaning himself. Many of the farmers collapse from heat stroke from being exposed to the sun all day.

In Donetsk, people always died left and right.

The disease spreads to humans and animals who haven't gotten immunity yet. The weather and limited resources do not help one bit in improving the quality of life for those desperate to make it.

The smell of rotting corpses always hangs heavy in the air. It wouldn't be an odd occurrence for Roger to wake up wedged between dead bodies.

Too many survivors kept showing up after the Hungarian settlement had fallen into disrepair. Donetsk's population had grown too fast until food and water supplies had stretched too thin.

Roger knows he won't be missed. Neither will he miss anyone else.

The chip in his arm remains a thick uncomfortable bump just beneath the surface of his healing skin tissue. The boat that could take him to the settlement leaves on Friday from the Last Docks.

He's got no choice but to make the three-day trek to the coast and take this once in a lifetime chance.

Despite living in Ukraine for fifteen years, Roger has nothing but a single backpack of belongings, spare underwear, socks, and an envelope filled with pictures of his family.

On Tuesday, morning before dawn, he forces himself to wake up before everyone else, tucks his consent form in his pocket and tiptoes around the other sleeping bodies in the tent to leave the decayed city and settlement of Donetsk for good.

He wears his beak shaped mask and layered clothing to keep all parts of his skin covered against the radiation in the air.

Traveling alone is dangerous these days, but there is a small group of others from the settlement who wordlessly come along with him as they follow down the highway out of the city. Roger assumes that they also got approved by the doctors in the makeshift clinic to come to Nagar.

They don't speak. They don't introduce themselves or take off their masks.

Without exchanging a word, they move together in a wolf pack formation through the bewildered decay of landscapes that used to be villages and world cities. Now, wild animals roam the streets with broken pavement and live in the remains of abandoned cars and vegetation-covered buildings.

At night, the group of strangers huddle together against the cold and hiss at the creatures crawling closer to their fire.

They always wear masks against the radiation that's hung heavy in the air since humans stopped minding nuclear plants. The masks are large and elaborate enough to scare off the curious predators.

All three of those nights, Roger lays on his back, wedged between the masked people and looks up at the starry skies, freed of light pollution.

When he is certain that nobody is looking, he puts his hand on his empty stomach and thinks about the laughter of children and his sisters sad vacant eyes reflecting in the stars.

He always knew he would never become a parent.

He'd contracted the disease and then never got his first period or pheromones. He knows he has a uterus simply because sometimes he could see the outline of the organ from the outside of his body when food was scarce for a few weeks.

The thought of having a child himself is as surreal as the idea of living a more comfortable life.

Roger doesn't hold out hope for either, but that doesn't mean he won't push himself and try.

After three days of frantic dreams and tireless tracking across Ukraine, Roger spots the enormous cruise ship waiting for them in the Black Sea by the docks.

He speaks for the first time in days, surprising his silent companions.

"We are here."

Upon coming closer, Roger sees that it had been an old cruise ship from before the Eradication. The flood has clearly caused damage to the decks. The railings are rusting and the once white bulkheads are browning, glass in round windows are smashed out, and the painted letters of the ships name are now faded and chipped. It looks nowhere near as luxurious as the makeshift clinic where Doctor Darnell had promised him luxury.

When they arrive on the docks, they soon notice that there are five different queues. One for Alphas, one for Omegas, one for female Betas, one for male Betas, and one for 'skilled workers'.

There are people in clean lab coats and gas masks seated behind wooden desks at the start of each row, using red lasered scanners to scan the chips in people's wrists and store their consent forms into sealed steel letterboxes.

His group of companions breaks up without goodbyes. If Roger ever sees them again on the other side, he won't even know what their faces look like or recognize their voices.

Growing increasingly anxious, Roger gets in line behind the other Omegas, clutching the sleeves of his coat tightly.

While he waits underneath the rapidly beating sunlight, he witnesses a number of people being harshly escorted away from the ship, usually after a short discussion and without the telltale beeping sound of the scanner. They are people who tried to get on the ship without knowing they had needed an implanted chip as their ticket. Bulky men in black outfits toss crying women over their shoulder and drag screaming men off the site.

The desperation in their pleas is gut-wrenching.

By the time it is finally his turn, Roger has worked himself up into a numb state of panic.

He imagines that his chip might have malfunctioned and that he will be the next to get grabbed by his arms and dragged out of reach from his only chance at a potential better life.

The scientist holding the scanner remains oblivious to Roger teetering on the edge of losing consciousness or throwing up over the woman's polished combat shoes. 

"Name?" she asks.

He swallows thickly and forces himself to pipe out, "Roger Taylor."

"Are you here alone?"

"Yes."

"Forced to be here against your will by someone other than yourself?"

Roger shakes his head and says no.

She makes an impatient gesture at his hand, waiting with the scanner to read his chip.

With a sinking feeling in his chest, Roger lifts his arm to bring his sleeve covered wrist closer to the scientists' hand. She doesn't even look when it makes the obnoxious beeping sound on the first try. She misses the way Roger breathes out shakily and blinks away the tears behind his mask. It's the sweetest sound he's ever heard.

"Consent form?"

He scrambles for the piece of paper in his pocket. His heart is still racing when he gives her the form with trembling hands.

She sighs at having to unfold it, taking one long look at it, before nodding and prodding it through the steel letterbox's hole. When she looks up and sees Roger is still standing there, she makes a dismissive hand gesture. "Move along, straight ahead please."

"Thank you," Roger mutters in a tightly clipped tone.

He can't quite believe it when the guard right behind the scientist points helpfully towards a man dressed in similar fashion by the gangway to get onboard. They--the Omegas--are separated quite far from the other queues, there is no way someone could just enter the ship from the wrong gangway. Not with how tight security is.

Roger marches forward while he is still trying to wrap his head around what he is about to do now.

The man dressed in all black by the gangway has many white plastic bags bulging with its contents. Behind him there are dozens of stacks of unopened carton boxes, likely also filled with the same plastic bags.

He holds one out to Roger when he approaches.

"You are to remain on deck D." The man instructs. Roger takes the plastic bag and notes how heavy it is.

One peek inside reveals that it is loaded with food.

"Make it last for the week."

A week. The location of the new settlement was to remain secret, but travelling on the sea for a week would mean that they are travelling to another continent. He thinks either an Asian country by the coast, or whatever remains of South America or down in Africa.

The man can't see his face, but somehow he still figures out what Roger is trying to do.

"Don't try to work it out, you won't know where we're going."

With those final words, Roger heaves his bag of food over his shoulder and steps onto the gangway to get on board.

-

Roger remembers being on a boat once before.

He was a child and most of England had gone underwater during the flood. He, unlike many others, had been lucky his uncle had owned a sailboat that had kept him and his family alive long enough to find refuge in Scotland. That was the start of it all. Things never got better after that.

He tries not to think about it too much. Each time he does, he starts to miss his mother's soothing hand on his forehead and the little games his sister always came up with to keep them sane during the long days they spent cramped in uncle Bennie's cabin.

The journey to the new settlement is long with very little to entertain oneself with.

But Roger has never had the privilege to lay down and do nothing for a whole week, therefore he takes advantage of the time. He catches up on his sleep and feels the tight muscles in his neck and legs ease slightly over the next few days.

This proves already to be an enormous improvement from Donetsk.

It is not exactly the kind of luxury cruise ship he used to see in films when he was a child, but the facilities are there.

They have a working toilet and running water, clearer than any he had drunk in Ukraine for over fifteen years. No, There are no showers and they are forced to sleep on the outdoor deck on mattresses pushed together around the empty outdoor swimming pool, used now as a fire pit to keep them warm when they are out on the open ocean.

Everyone on Deck D is an Omega. A few hundred of them.

Not that he can tell by their scent, which none of them seem to have, all affected by the disease's lasting infertility like him. 

He also can't tell from the way that they are dressed or their facial features. 

Most of them wear clothes covering their skin from head to toe, just like Roger. Including protective masks for any radiation, although the dangers of that are less severe on the sea. 

Nobody wants to risk getting exposed by dangerous particles more than they already are.

It is a rather morbid sight, hundreds of Omegas, all strangers to each other, faceless and tense around an empty pool casting an orange glow of fire over their huddled figures.

Roger hasn't spoken again in days and only removes his mask to drink and munch at the surprisingly good food he had received in the plastic bag, which had also contained toothpaste and a toothbrush, comb, deodorant and a washcloth.

He stays mostly on one spot, close to the fire because he runs cold.

He observes the people around himself as he sits and listlessly stares. There is not much else for him to do than to contemplate.

The scientists who had been present at the docks have disappeared and are replaced by patrolling security guards dressed in all black.

They walk up and down the decks carrying heavy guns over their shoulders.

Roger thinks the scientists and skilled workers have been given the cabins indoors that might still be intact, while the other passengers from the reproduction program are left to sleep outdoors. The security guards are there to keep everyone in the right place and break up potential fights or dangers. He had thought that this was to keep the scientists safe from the lowlifes, but as time progressed he started to think differently.

During one encounter with a security guard, he spooked Roger on his way to the bathroom.

He nearly jumps out of his skin and off the boat with one avid shriek. He would have, if it weren't for the strong arms grasping at him before he could actually trip over the railing. 

Roger had waited until nightfall to use the toilet. Having only one for a few hundred people was not the best idea by whoever was in charge of sanitation.

He'd waited until everyone was asleep to avoid a queue. A stupid mistake really, for someone who doesn't have a torch or any light available to lead the way.

"You alright there?" The guard who is still holding tight onto his arm asks.

Roger nods, a little dumbly. Baffled while he still recovers from the near tumble down. His heart is beating fast against his ribs, bruising them from the inside.

The guard is wearing a mask, yet Roger can feel the disapproval pour from his intense gaze.

"It is dangerous to move around alone in the dark. We've got night vision in our masks," he tells Roger curtly.

He looks over his shoulder to make sure it is still his colleague standing at the other end of the deck and not someone else. When he turns back to Roger some of the tension has fallen off his shoulders.

"Here, I bring you the rest of way." His heavy Eastern European accent is rather charming and Roger allows himself to be escorted the last few steps to the toilet. The guard even waits outside for him to finish his business to take him all the way back to his empty mattress spot amongst the other sleeping Omegas.

Roger thanks him in a hushed whisper.

The guard salutes him, in a manner that is not as mocking as it could have been.

He realizes then, that the guards are there not to protect the scientists, but to keep the sexes separated. 

Roger suddenly doesn't feel safe. 

For the first time in his life, he is hyperaware of his second sex and the potential dangers that come with being an Omega, a potential child-bearer.

-

Six days after boarding in Ukraine, a thundering announcement from the previously unused speakerphone announces that they have arrived.

Not that they had to tell them.

All the Omegas had gathered close to the railing to peer out at the first sight of land in days. 

The world looks nothing like it did before the Eradication. The flood, in particular, has really messed up the shape and sizes of countries and whole continents.

Nobody knows exactly where they are. There are murmurs about East Africa, where two other known settlements are also active. That perhaps this new settlement was not new at all.

For one moment Roger fears that they have been tricked into going to the Coromos Islands. Out of all the remaining human settlements, the most notorious and inhumane one is where the rich and famous reside and the poor are put to work under dire conditions. Through gut-wrenching rumours, Roger had always understood to stay far away from the Coromos.

It comforts him when he sees that where they are headed to dock is one enormous landmass that stretches out into the horizon. So no islands. Fewer chances of becoming some sex plaything for former King George or become an enslaved worker for the rest of his life. 

The ship makes a smooth stop by the pier, and Roger, like many others on Deck D is forced to bite the inside of his cheek when they are the last passengers allowed to disembark.

This is his new life, he reminds himself. His importance lies in the fact that he's an Omega.

His first steps ashore are wobbly and uncertain.

He's got the terrifying feeling that the world is moving underneath his feet but what is, in fact, a terrible case of sea leg. He's glad the Alphas have all been ushered away already to not witness him as some helpless damsel. 

The last of the guards trickle off the boat in an orderly fashion, mingling with the Omega's and guiding them down the pier towards the remains of what may have been a city before.

Some guards are in the front to lead the way, while a larger group remains in the back to shepherd everyone forward.

Roger hangs somewhere in the middle of the crowd. 

He feels nauseous being on land and with the sun shining so brightly into his stinging eyes. 

He wants to remove his mask and coat because his skin is sizzling with heat but he sees nobody else remove theirs, not even the guards. He doesn't want to risk getting in contact with radioactive materials.

At first, it isn't certain how far they have got to go. 

Just as he is contemplating asking the guards for a break so they can sit down and find something to drink, they come to a collective stop in front of steel train tracks.

An awed murmur goes around the group when a moment later a train comes into view and rolls in near silence right in front of their aching feet.

They are brought onto the functioning train that appears to be electric rather than steam engined. Even inside, people are sharing mutters of surprise, of wonder.

Roger has no good memories of the last time he was put on a train to a new settlement, but this train is much more modern, either unaffected by the destruction of the Eradication or made after, a clean slate. The cabin Roger is ushered into by one of the guards is stark white: the walls, the floors and the seats. Some of the details are stainless steel.

The chairs fill up too quickly to snatch a place for himself. 

He ends up being forced to hold on tight to a steel pole when the doors shut after a robotic warning and the train starts moving north, nearly silent again.

If he could remove his mask he'd wipe off the sweat gathering on his forehead.

It is unbearably hot under two coats, with gloves and several other layers of clothing to keep him shelter from the radiation.

The climate in Nagar is nice and warm. That doesn't cancel out any of the locations Roger had guessed where they'd go. He distracts himself with his guessing games instead of giving into his vision blackening around the edges.

He doesn't even know what is happening when he stumbles backwards and nearly slumps against one of the guards patrolling by the train door.

The tall man grasps him by the arms before he can topple over and, much to Roger's relief, he offers him a bottle of water to cool down and even holds it to Roger's lips while tipping the mask up far enough to drink.

Dehydrated, overheated, and overwhelmed.

He feels the eyes of the other Omegas on him, but he can't be arsed to care about whatever they may think of him.

It takes twenty minutes for the ride to be over. The windows are blacked out, which means they couldn't see where they were going, but it was obvious that the train was moving fast when Roger had to pop his ears several times along the way.

When they do arrive at their destination and the guards let them out the door, they are all ushered into a tall concrete building.

It is clearly not Nagar where they have gotten off the train, or at least, it's not the main part of the settlement.

They appear to be in an open grass field with three large buildings awkwardly put in the center of it all, close to the train tracks that notably continue further onwards into the horizon beyond Roger's eye field.

The buildings look strangely out of place in this warm environment.

It resembles the grey geometric construction in Ukraine that dated back to the Soviet Union era. Straight, simplistic, and practical. It had been erected after the Eradication. Likely by the people who built the high-tech train and the chip in his arm.

He could hardly see where the building ended so far up close. All he knew was that it was high and only one of the three giants standing tall in this area.

Everything felt a touch surreal.

His feet carry him on auto-pilot towards the lobby of the designated building.

The interior is as minimalistic as the exterior.

There are beige floors and grey walls. Similar to the docks before they were allowed to board the ship, there are maskless people in dark blue uniforms sitting at five tables armed with a tablet and another chip scanner.

It is starting to feel like they are farm animals lining up obliviously for the slaughterhouse when everyone shuffles into straight lines to queue again.

This time it is apparently to check them in and hear what room is assigned to them.

"There are instructions on the bed where we have also left new clothes for you. The instructions will prompt you to take a shower and have some of the food on the desk next to the bed." The woman is friendlier than the scientists had been. She scans his chip and informs, "You will be transferred into Nagar tomorrow."

A hundred- no, a million questions are on the tip of Roger's tongue that he wishes to ask, but he is told his room number, 118, and that the door unlocks when he holds his wrist to the door handle.

When she sees him hesitate to move along, the woman in blue offers a tender smile, but no answers.

"Everything will be clearer tomorrow."

Which is a blatant lie.

He inches out of the way towards the stairs that say 'rooms 100-120.' Climbing up takes more energy than he is proud of. His knees are aching from the long day and his eyes are burning with an itch to sleep.

He squints his way down the equally grey hallway until he finds his assigned room that says 118.

For the first time in days it is eerily quiet. He has spent six days on a boat surrounded by constant breathing, coughing, and shifting.

Suddenly Roger finds himself stumbling into a tiny room, alone.

After he shuts the door with a deafening click, he takes one hard look at his surroundings.

Grey again. Grey walls. Beige carpeted floor. He finds that there are no windows, a single bed with a pile of clothes, a nightstand with a lamp and a book, plus a desk opposite the bed with some plastic food containers and two large bottles of water.

He drops his plastic bag to the floor and forgoes everything that is in the room, including the instructions on the bed that they had drilled him to read intently, to make a b-line for the door to the left.

As expected, it leads to a tiny bathroom with white tiles, a tiny sink, a toilet, and a simple cabin shower.

He removes one of his gloves and reaches into the shower to turn the knob with shaking hand. There are two knobs, one to let the water run and the other to control the temperature.

A part of him can't believe it.

For the first time in years, water warmer than his body temperature touches his skin.

He strips himself off his clothes at record speed and leaves them alongside his mask, discarded on the floor.

Once he is naked and shivering, he steps into the shower cabin and ducks under the stream of water that rains down from the steelhead.

Hot droplets immediately start to beat down his goosebump littered skin. He attempts to make himself as small as possible to get more of himself directly under the warm spray.

It is Roger's first hot shower in over fifteen years. Despite the warmth that engulfed him and truly cleans him, silent tears slip down his face and his body can't stop trembling violently every second he spends underneath the constant stream.

He stays like that until he loses track of time.

Until his fingers are pruney and his legs are threatening to give out underneath him from exhaustion.

That night, Roger crawls onto the single bed, still naked without bothering to pull the duvet over his shivering bones and sleeps like a baby.

-

The next day he is transferred by train again, further from the coast, deeper into the country.

The windows are blacked out again so there are no further hints of where the settlement is located. Or even what exact continent they are on.

What Roger can tell is that the train is significantly shorter than yesterday and the cabin is not overcrowded. Every Omega inside has a seat available to sit on. The ride is longer but the carriage races on a higher speed than it had yesterday.

 _This must be it_ , Roger thinks. 

They must be going to the real settlement now, rather than the transfer entree.

Nobody tells him anything about what is going to happen, though. He and the other Omegas are continuously being told two things.

One, the immediate next step of their journey but no further and two, their final destination, which is to produce a baby.

Roger doesn't like other people doing all the thinking for him and having his fate in their hands. He doesn't know where he is, how to vent for himself in this environment or what the natural landscape holds. He relies on _them_. He understands that these are deliberate decisions on their part to control those who enter the settlement as newlings.

All he knows is that he is being transferred to his next temporary housing. The one he will be staying at until they have selected the Alpha he is to bond and have a child with.

It is becoming increasingly frustrating to refer to the people controlling every aspect of his life as _they_.

The train comes to a stop after what Roger guesses might be an hour and a half.

As soon as the doors open, the security guards step out of the train and remove their masks with amplified relief.

There are two dozens of guards for approximately sixty or seventy Omegas. They all make their way out of the train to gather around the guards, recognizable by their black attires.

Roger follows the crowd but not in removing his mask to gasp for air as some others do.

He is still wary about the unknown environment and potential dangers people might have overseen. When he sees one of those scientists walking around outdoors without high-tech masks, he'll consider removing his.

They have come to stand still, giving Roger the opportunity to take a look around himself.

His surroundings are, just like the enormous concrete building he'd slept in yesterday, artificial-- simplistic and stripped to the bare essentials.

It looks like everything that was once there, that was beautiful or characterized by a world rich in culture, wealth and history, had been demolished, flattened to ground level to erect more practical plain concrete buildings, endless vertical paved streets and train tracks.

There are also trees in the encircling areas. A lot of trees.

It appears that the settlement is surrounded by dense forest which is likely why the air is fresh where it filters through his mask. 

The treeline goes as far as kilometres back, all the way up to the enormous fence surrounding Nagar.

The city is large enough for Roger to not see the other end of the fence from where they have stepped off the train.

He could have stood there all day to try and learn as much about his new environment as possible. The streets here are oddly empty, which is a little troublesome in the middle of the day, if it wasn't for the fact that a larger number of the newly arrived Omegas are brought down to the first concrete buildings up the street. Roger and a group of others have their names called by a guard and are selected for an immediate doctors examination.

"Everyone will be meeting their assigned doctor sometime today or tomorrow, no need for alarm. You were simply first on the list. Please follow Guardian Cossa to the Omega clinic. It is a short ten-minute walk."

One of the security guards, a Guardian is what they are called here, with smooth dark skin and high cheekbones waves a muscled arm at the front of their ten people crowd. Signalling for them to follow after him into the heart of the settlement.

Or Roger had thought that a ten-minute walk would get them into the heart of the city, apparently, they are not even outside of what Guardian Cossa calls 'the Omega zone'.

"-Which is where you will remain until you have been coupled to an Alpha. It is strictly forbidden to go beyond this zone until that time, for your own good," he explains as they walk. None of the Omegas dare to utter a word as they gather around the tall man and latch onto every word he says.

For those who have removed their masks, Roger sees the doubt mingled with fear pools in their eyes. Everything is dubiously uncertain.

"All your needs will be provided for, of course. You will have your own rooms and food delivered to you. The Omega clinic is well within your zone to provide you with the best care. You will not be staying here for a long time, but while you are here you will be given new clothes, books to read, and there is even a tour around Nagar. Something to look forward to."

 _Indeed_ , Roger thinks warily.

For ten minutes straight, all they see is long streets and identical grey buildings. Some of them are warehouses rather than flats for people to live in, but the whole Omega zone appears to be boringly homogeneous.

Finally after crossing the road to the clinic, the ten Omegas are ushered into one of the buildings furthest down Omega lane. 

Its interior resembles that of the infirmary Roger had been screened at to join the settlement.

He is barely through the automatic doors searching for an empty spot to sit, when his name is called by a small man dressed in white from head to toe with a bright smile.

"Roger Taylor? Are you Roger Taylor?"

Roger blinks dumbly at him before nodding his head.

"Great, Dr May is waiting for you, if you could please follow me."

Unsurprisingly, he does what he is told and hauls himself after him. Leaving the Guardians and other Omegas behind.

He is led through a bright hallway made solely of white tiles and fluorescent lights. The nurse in uniform checks over his shoulder to confirm Roger is still following.

"No reason to be nervous, it is really just a chance to meet and familiarize with the program." He smiles kindly again. Seeing people's faces after years of staring at masks and foreheads, it is somewhat odd but ever relieving to Roger's sore eyes.

He leads them to a grey door with a little plaque with the doctors' name on it. _May_ , Roger reads when he squints.

 _Brian May_.

After knocking on the door the nurse makes a swift departure, leaving Roger to deal with the melodic voice telling him to come in.

Before he forces himself to man up, he sucks in a lungful of air.

The same clinical scent hangs in the air here as it had in the makeshift clinic near Donetsk.

Roger suspects the air must be filtered here too, he even suspects that they are too far removed from nuclear plants to be affected outdoors. Which is why he removes his mask while he pushes through the door into the doctors' office.

He runs his gloved fingers through his hair and clutches the mask to his chest when he comes eye to eye with doctor Brian May.

The relatively young doctor, dressed in a white lab coat and no mask or gloves, shifts himself out of his chair to meet Roger halfway across the room.

He too wears a smile that does an admirable job putting Roger at ease.

He could scold himself for being so malleable to random strangers, but he can't be too hard on himself. 

Not after the many years he has spent deprived of this, from friendly facial expressions, fresh air, and human touch.

"Doctor Brian May. It is very nice to meet you." Brian May holds out his hand waiting patiently for Roger to get over the initial hesitation to comply and shake his hand. The gesture pleases the doctor and he gives Roger another bright smile. "Better to get comfortable early on, we will be working in close proximity from now on."

"Right." Roger forces himself to say.

Brian takes two steps back to grant Roger his personal space again and gestures down towards the empty chair by his desk. "Please have a seat, we have a lot to go over. You're not too tired, are you?"

Roger has not slept as well as he did last night in decades. 

He'd been in an air-conditioned room, on a real mattress, under a warm blanket, after a hot shower and a decent nutritious meal. 

Nobody had disturbed him until noon. 

If this was his new life, he could get used to the ugly concrete buildings and maybe even his new status as an Omega.

"I'm fine," he answers finally, although he is a little tired from being constantly overwhelmed.

The doctor lowers himself into his own chair and rolls to his desk so he can fold his arms on top.

He looks at Roger intently, studying him. He does have kind eyes and a wonderful bush of hair. Roger tries not to stare too much, but he finds him attractive, scentless or not. He can't tell what second sex the doctor has, but he doubts Omegas get to be doctors here.

"So, Roger Taylor. I am aware you came into the settlement through the fertility program. I've read over your consent application form and noted that you had listed no additional skills. Is this true?"

Roger vaguely considers if he should be embarrassed to admit it, but he finds that he can't be arsed.

"I got sick at the age of nine. Didn't get to go to school or anything after that."

The doctor is not surprised to hear this but he does lower his eyes in sympathy, or respect.

Many had died around that time after all. The majority of people in both their lives, wherever the doctor might have come from before.

He reaches for the tablet at the corner of his desk. Roger hadn't noticed it before, because the desk is a cluttered mask of picture frames, two large computer screens, a keyboard, and stacks upon stacks of office supplies and papers strewn about.

The doctor scrolls through the tablet with a concentrated frown. Roger almost manages to squint at one of the images that flash by on the screen and make out the words and faces on there, but the doctor speaks again, causing his eyes to lose focus.

"Right, it says so in your file. You're twenty-four years old now, too young to have had formal education or developed critical skills prior to the Eradication. It also says here that you farmed on the Ukrainian settlement." He puts the tablet down to reassure Roger. "When you're part of the fertility and reproduction program, I won't clear you for manual labour again. We have machines that perform the majority of our agriculture and construction work, in fact. So there is no need to worry about juggling physically straining work with your medical procedures."

He'd not expected he would be back to working in the fields if he was also going to be their baby maker, but the doctor says it in a soft reassuring tone, believing he had broken Roger excellent news.

Roger looks back at the man uneasily. "Dr May...?"

"Brian, please." The doctor leans back in his chair. Offering Roger more air to breathe, which he uses. 

He inhales sharply to gather what it takes to ask the question that has been on his mind ever since he's heard about this settlement, but he had been too afraid to ask in case he'd instantly get kicked out for it.

He hadn't dared to risk the question before, but the doctor, Brian, seems not like the person who would meet his open wonder with severe life-ruining punishment.

"Brian. I have been wondering... Will I be allowed to leave?"

To his credit, the doctor does not appear openly phased by the question. "Not after the surgery. After that, you will be an investment."

"The fertility surgery?"

Brian nods. "Yes, indeed. A minor procedure but rather expensive with the limited resources we've got these days." He pauses, drums his fingers on the desk still trying to read Roger's expression. Apparently, his face doesn't give away much, perhaps an aftereffect of always seeing masked faces rather than people's expressions.

After a long pause, the doctor's left eyebrow raises upwards. "Can I assume, for now, that you wish to remain here in Nagar and enroll in the reproduction program?"

He wishes he had options other than selling out his uterus to gain access to a more comfortable life and his basic needs.

But he doesn't have the luxury of options and he cannot keep pushing his luck in this place. Nobody has treated him bad yet. He needs to clamp around this opportunity like the lifeline it is.

"Yes," he breathes. "Yes I will."

The serious look on Brian's face is replaced with another one of his smiles. He clasps his hands together with a big smile.

"Delightful. Everything will become clearer shortly, we will be bombarding you with leaflets to read and books and lectures, I promise. First of all, within the week I will set up a plan for you. This includes a strict diet and medication after a physical examination, both to boost fertility. Once your plan is put together and I have met and discussed with your therapist, we will start talking about the artificial bonding and, in the long run, finding an occupation for you that won't put too much strain on your body."

Those are a lot of words. Roger finds it hard to process them all at once. Or get a clear timeline from this.

How long until he gets a mate assigned? When does he get a job? He hadn't even mentioned when the surgery on his reproductive system would be.

Roger feels a little dizzy and his stomach churns unhappily at having to digest all of this at once.

Out of all things he was thinking of saying, he ends up mumbling, "Finding me a mate."

"Someone suitable to have a child with, yes." Brian May pauses and adds in a lighter tone, almost as if they were good acquaintances or even friends, comfortable to joke around together, "Within your age range, of course, someone pleasing to the eye. I won't have you settle for less."

His chuckle dies out when Roger doesn't join in.

-

As promised, four days later the Omegas get a tour around the settlement.

It is only a small group of people Roger doesn't remember meeting before today. They are each given an electric bike to take them around the enormous city. The vehicle is not theirs to keep and are only on loan for the time being, but they are promised to get one once they are successfully bonded with someone and transferred to their permanent home.

Roger doesn't mind that this is only a taste of the freedom he will get once he has gotten mated. It is the first time he's been allowed outside of the so-called Omega zone.

He has been cooped up in his assigned room ever since returning from the doctors' office. 

He has been made to read leaflets about the reproduction program and the medical procedures involved, none of which made him wiser than the vague bouts of information he had gotten before. 

He's been getting meals in his room but not been cleared for walks beyond their block of concrete buildings yet.

Therefore he can't--and doesn't--complain when he and ten others are called outside to have their chips momentarily connected to the guards' (enabling them to follow where the guards go) and see the rest of the settlement.

There are four Guardians to shepherd them around this time. Two at the front and two in the back, each also riding their bikes.

Maybe Roger had underestimated the technology possessed by these people. He barely has to pedal at all to move forward. The wheels glide down the even streets almost as if they are floating.

The Omegas are instructed to bike in groups of two. Roger is paired with a woman with sunkissed skin and a mask over her face.

Roger had forgone masks altogether after seeing people in white lab coats walk about outside with no protection on.

As soon as their group starts to pedal forward the wind blows through his hair and oxygen, fresher than the air even before the Eradication, flows through his flared nose and into his system.

He almost wishes he was pushing the bike forward on his own strength and that he could speed up, feel his heart pumping and the heat of the sun contradict the cold wind.

But even when he is constrained to staying within a five-meter radius of the guards, he has been warned that his chip will sound an alarm if he manages to stray from the group.

He doesn't intend to miss out on anything he might discover on the tour.

At first, it is more of the same. Grey buildings. Concrete flats. Long straight paved streets.

It takes fifteen minutes of biking before they go beyond the Omega zone and find themselves entering a completely new part of the city. 

The buildings aren't quite so homogeneous. 

They have clearly been here prior to the Eradication, although they have been cleared, renovated, and perhaps repainted after the people who lived in this city previous to the disaster had passed away.

Other large cities that hadn't gone underwater with the flood, are now ghost towns with rotting corpses strewn about, decaying buildings with vegetation transforming the human structures into enormous jungles.

This city, the new settlement Nagar, has clearly not been overtaken by the flood but a lot of maintenance must have been done to preserve it to this state. 

No matter how sharply Roger inhales, the familiar smell of dead bodies does not hang in the air the way it had remained thick in Ukraine, although the mass grave had been located a few kilometres from the settlement.

Shaking away these thoughts, Roger forces himself to pay attention to the Guardian leading the group who's just pointed out which of the houses is his and where the laundromat is located.

Roger tries to keep up with the conversation but gets distracted when they pass by people going about their day, watching them bike by with knowing looks and welcoming smiles. Some wave at them and he can see people staring directly at him as they whisper in each other's ears. Commenting on him or his second sex or terrible haircut he'd done himself yesterday in the bathroom when he realized it'd gotten too long.

Before the staring becomes uncomfortable, one of the guards whistles sharply at the snickering men which shocks them out of their schoolboy behaviour. "Eyes to yourselves fellas."

"Can't help it with you parading the newbies around!" The one who recovers from his shock calls back.

The two Guardians at the front make eye contact and roll their eyes with a fondness that reassures Roger. He doesn't think he'll be attacked under their watch.

They continue to ride through the inhabited part of town. 

There are people from all ethnicities there wearing the same bland clothing Roger had been given; whites, dark blues, blacks, and lab coats, not hinting at any religious or cultural attires. He knows that on his consent form he had agreed to renounce religion. He did not have any religious affiliations, but he assumes that everyone was made to abandon their religion upon entering the settlement.

This leaves somewhat of a gaping hole in where obvious traces of religion and culture have been stripped off the architecture.

Bell roofs have been crushed down to plain squares and finials have been knocked off. Old street plaques, lampposts, and scriptures have been replaced by modern, newer, culturally unidentifiable ones.

Roger hates to think about what country it is that they have demolished to start a homogenous society.

He understands the necessity of starting fresh--no religion, no superior culture or hierarchy--but to think of how much of humanity has already been lost, the purposeful demolishing of a heritage seems both cruel and unjust. But nobody comments on it and nobody cares to defend the decision.

Roger forces his mouth to remain shut. He doubts the guards had any say in destroying cultural heritage.

They bike towards the science facilities after they have gone through the long track of the enormous workshops and residence areas. They gesture at the female Beta zone, where the women are kept in similar conditions as the Omegas.

"Where are the Alphas and male Betas?" Roger asks suddenly. The question sat too heavy on his chest to ignore.

One of the Guardians is decent enough to give him a reply, although it makes Roger scoff inwardly. "They are immediately integrated into the settlement and put through trial jobs. They get settled in their assigned apartment immediately so they are all set for when their selected mate is coming to join them."

After that, they drive all the way to the end of the paved street, a good thirty-minute bike ride ahead, and are met face to face with the other end of the enormous electric fence that goes around the whole settlement.

It is high enough that Roger cannot see the top from where he is standing.

"-Well, not the whole settlement, but the regions of Nagar meant for regular citizens like you lot. The fence is there to keep out animals, people, and unwanted disease. We have other fenced areas outside of this fence, where large scale farming is performed and the guardian training centre is located, but also large testing areas a safe distance from us. The train connects us to those areas and, of course, the docks where new shipments of people come in."

The thought of never going beyond this electric fence makes him squeamish with claustrophobia.

They have stopped biking to pause in front of the fence, a safe distance away of course.

There is another fence to protect people from the main fence that serves more like gigantic castle walls. The second fence is not electric, but it warns people with red signs, from climbing over and getting killed by the high voltage of the main fence.

"Have they ever considered expanding the settlement?" Roger hears himself asking without looking away from the threatening skull faces drawn on the red signs.

The Guardians who are leaning casually against their bikes to rest, share an amused look. _Silly Omega_.

"Hardly one in twenty available flats are being occupied at the moment, _plus_ there is plenty of empty ground left to build on. There is nothing to worry about."

Before Roger can open his mouth again he is already interrupted by another.

"Everything you need will be provided for you from the inside, so there is no need to worry about what may happen on the other side."

"And if we keep growing, I am certain we can secure a new area just like we secured this one."

If Roger had any other questions, they are not open to being asked right now. 

The Guardians unanimously decide that it is time to ride the exact same route back to the Omega zone, where the Omegas chips are immediately synced to their zone again.

He tries to remember everything that he sees on his way there.

He takes note of two libraries, clinics, bike shops, a tailor, clothes ordering, food distribution centres, a restaurant, and many more facilities. 

It would almost make this place appear like a normal city if it weren't for the fact that Roger is not allowed access to any of it. For now, he has his bike taken from him and is ushered back into the concrete building up to his single bedroom.

At first, he contemplates falling face-first onto the bed and taking a nap until he can stomach food, but when he actually shuts the door and enters the room something is off.

It is the clothes that are on his back. They are all pearly white, the shoes, socks, three pairs of underwear, trousers, jacket, and t-shirt are all uniform pieces given by Nagar's care packages. His own clothes, including his trusted mask and gloves, have been taken away by the cleaners who have left him food containers and tidied his bed.

Panic rises in his chest. He nearly faints in his haste to get to the door and find the cleaning people before they burn his clothes or whatever they do with things from the outside.

He struggles to turn the doorknob and let him outside.

For a split second, he fears that they have locked him inside, perhaps for asking so many questions during the tour or because they have given up on his chances of becoming fertile. In his desperation to rattle the door handle, Roger stumbles backwards with a pained hiss and his spine collides with the desk behind him.

Pain shoots up his back all the way to his neck. He scrambles to clamp onto the edge to keep from hurting himself further with more frantic movements. He faces away from the desk, staring desperately between the bed and the door, where he had left his clothes and personal belongings and his only exit.

If those pictures are gone... His breath sticks in his throat with a raw hiccup. If they are gone, he has nothing physically left to remember them by.

He gathers himself to make a second attempt at opening the door. He pushes away from the desk when suddenly he grasps onto a piece of paper.

His heart races. Roger turns around and sees through the blur of his tears the crinkled envelope with yellow discoloured edges perched neatly on the desk.

Nobody is there to witness how he starts to bawl like a baby.

He quickly opens the envelope to check if every picture is still in there. His heart starts to settle down more with every familiar face he flips through.

His old clothes are gone, but the pictures of his family have been left behind. He continues to cry, but in relief now.

-

" _Alright, this might tickle_ ," is not an appropriate warning for Roger's first ever pelvic exam.

It _hurts_.

Doctor Brian May had him strip down and left him a robe made of scratchy paper-like fabric.

After weighing him and measuring his height, Roger was guided into the most intimidating chair he has ever seen. 

The blue backrest leans all the way back and when Roger wriggles down, Doctor May guides his bare feet onto the stirrups that keep his legs spread and his private bits exposed to the cold air and the doctors studying gaze.

The doctor's asserting fingers are prodding and touching in places Roger has never been touched before.

He lays there, grits his teeth and takes it.

Several instruments are used on him to examine his reproductive health. Although he doubts this invasive, skin prickling, stomach-churning exam would help his health.

"Alright, that was the pap smear," the doctor stores the gathered cells he's swiped into a secure plastic tube. He shuts it, before rolling his stool back in between Roger's open legs. "Now time for the more intimate side. Take a deep breath please, try to relax your muscles."

Roger is mortified to watch him lube up two fingers before he continues. He is wearing gloves that rub uncomfortably against his insides.

He uses his other hand to press down firmly on Roger's abdomen.

The only saving grace is the handles on the examination chair. Roger clamps onto them and rides through the physical discomfort and nausea that comes with it.

"All things considered, you seem as healthy as one can expect to be after contracting the disease at such a young age. I am very glad to see this. Of course, there is a lot that still needs to be done. The results of the pap smear will take a few minutes to come back and we still have to examine the fallopian tubes, but I am very optimistic."

Roger remains silent even when doctor Brian May pauses in a way that suggests that he expects a reply to his findings.

He peers up at Roger from between his legs but Roger keeps his lips tightly shut in case he says something rash while he is irritable with discomfort.

After an awkward pause, Brian continues rambling on, as if nothing had happened.

He reaches for something that looks like a long thin tube and prepares the tip by uncovering the protection. "There will be hormone therapy involved, vitamin pills, a strict diet, then a surgery, to lead up to injecting you and your future mate with pheromones to artificially bond you both together."

Roger can guess where the tube he is holding now will go. His eyes desperately dart up to the ceiling. He doesn't need to see it go inside.

"Deep breath please, thank you," Brian May mumbles in concentration.

Luckily the tube is much thicker than a needle. Too thick to stab him but too thin to hurt after having endured the speculum and the doctor's fingers. It is only when an ultrasound wand joins the tube that he is starting to feel the discomfort again.

Leave it to doctor Brian to try and talk through the procedure. "I'll just be injecting a saline solution into the interior of your uterus to see how bad the blockage of the fallopian tubes is. They usually take the hardest blow after the disease in Omegas. The surgery will unblock the tubes, increasing your chances of a pregnancy again."

Roger doesn't really feel the liquid enter him but he feels the doctor shifting around the ultrasound wand until he can see a clearer image of Roger's insides on the grey computer screen.

He tries to dissociate himself from the grey and black image of his empty insides.

This day has been utterly disheartening. He feels strangely violated for something he had consented to. 

He still firmly believes one or two uncomfortable exams are worth a lifetime of regular meals and hot showers, but he finds himself slumping into the stiff cushions of the examination chair and his body crawls with the intrusion of cold, unnatural.

He wonders if it is all like this. If he will be getting exams every week until the miracle pregnancy finally happens. If he will be exposed to even worse to monitor the fetus. If sex will feel like this.

"It's almost over," Brian May mutters as if sensing Roger' growing discomfort and thinning patience. "The tubes do appear blocked. I will remove the damaged parts during the surgery and connect the healthy parts to stop the blockage. Are you following?"

"Yes."

"Good." Finally, _finally_ , he gives Roger's knee a comforting squeeze before removing the ultrasound wand from his insides by easing it out inch by inch, followed by the tube. "I know this wasn't easy, but you did very well."

He does sound very sincere and Roger almost forgives him when he pries his eyes open again to watch Brian put the used instruments in a stainless steel bin to be cleaned.

Lube and saline solution are running down his thigh until he is given a couple of tissues to dab himself clean.

Brian has rolled away from his invasive position between his legs and takes with him the pap smear spatula for rapid testing. Probably the same way Roger's blood had been tested weeks ago.

After cleaning up he is unsure what to do with the tissue or himself. Luckily, Brian has done this many times before.

"You can come on out now, here." Brian jumps away from his testing station to give Roger a hand climbing out the stirrups. "After a few months you will be a pro at this, I promise you that."

That is not as comforting as Brian thinks it is.

"There's still a lot I don't understand. And nobody will tell me," Roger says eventually after both his feet dangle safely down to the tiled floor again.

He's kind of sore, actually. Sitting down doesn't feel great, but his legs are still adjusting to the blood flowing back downwards to stand on their own.

Brian takes one look at how pale Roger has become over the course of the examination and reaches around himself to give him the glass of fresh orange juice he had clearly gotten for himself, not the patients. Roger doesn't comment on the fact that the doctor had already drunk some of it. He doesn't want to waste the opportunity that arises with the indifferent, almost guilty look on Brian's face.

"They don't want us to overwhelm the Omegas with the gritty details too early on."

He seems ashamed to admit it, so Roger presses on. "Don't you believe I deserve to know?" Brian remains silent, but his eyes are hard. A yes, then. "What's the timeline of all this?"

"They hope to have you married before the end of the month. We start your fertility treatment as soon as you're with your new spouse."

"I have a hundred questions about this. A million maybe. How do they select a mate for me?"

Brian looks over his shoulder to glance at the door. Roger follows his gaze. 

Nobody is there, but the hairs at the back of his neck stand up in alert. 

When Brian speaks again, his tone is much softer, almost like a whisper. "They will present a number of options to you based on a questionnaire you both fill out and the guidance of a matchmaker. The matchmaker will provide you with a few Alphas to choose from and you will get to determine which one of those you want."

That- that is not ideal, but it isn't as bad as it could be.

His choices will be limited, but he will have some choice in the matter. His heart is no longer racing. In truth, he feels mostly drained.

"You did not hear this from me. In fact, you never heard this information at all."

"Understood," Roger whispers back. He lowers his eyes suddenly, shy, even though Brian had just touched him in unsavoury ways nobody had ever before. "What about sex?" He forces himself to ask now that he has Brian's full attention and honesty. He plays with the hem of his scratchy robe. "Will I be expected to, y'know... Sleep with them?"

"We will be doing artificial insemination, IVF treatment to impregnate you when the time comes. There is no need to rush an intimate relationship with an Alpha you have just met."

Roger bites his lip. Feeling extremely silly now and his cheeks heat up with his embarrassment. "So when we meet, we will immediately proceed with having the baby?"

"You will be living together and getting to know each other at first, although it will take several months before both your bodies are ready for that step. The surgery is still a couple of months away and we want you healed from that before we will artificially bond you with your mate." Brian is talking with more volume again. The medical talk is easy. He has no qualms telling Roger about that, reassuring him with the facts.

A few months do not seem very far away for him. He had not believed fertility treatment would work at all on him, let alone within a matter of weeks.

"Has it worked with others?"

"Has what?" Brian asks.

Roger scoffs.

"The fertility treatment. The artificial soulbonding and impregnation."

"Of course," Brian states with utter confidence. "Soulbonding, as people used to call it, was nothing more than a scientific process of compatible sex pheromones in humans. The disease affects our ability to produce these pheromones, which is also why our scents have disappeared. It is simply chemistry. There is no higher power. There is no plan of the universe. It is a chemical reaction and we can simulate chemical reactions, trigger your pheromones and your fertility will increase." 

His eyes are hard and determined. 

Roger knows that prior to the Eradication, scepticism about the traditional concept of soulbonding was often mocked and treated with hostility, even when scientists came out with evidence for their claims. 

Brian is in his late-thirties or early-forties now and would have been a young doctor during the heat of this discussion. Roger sees the flame burn in his eyes even now.

"It's not magic. It's science."

"Have babies been born in the settlement?" Roger presses on.

Brian's demeanour doesn't change. He straightens his back and nods once and firmly. "Yes."

That is all.

He is helped off the chair after finishing Brian's juice and is given some privacy to change back into his clothes.

Afterwards, he expects to be given the instructions to go straight back to his building where he has every intention to lay down and sleep the rest of the day away, but instead, Brian calls in a pretty nurse with dark red hair and instructs her to take Roger to the East Wing.

"East Wing?" Roger turns to him and asks before the pretty nurse can force him along.

Brian is already sitting behind his desk, ready to type up a report about the examination in Roger's file, he looks at him and his face drops. "Nobody told you..."

"Told me what?"

"You're meeting your matchmaker today."

-

After the dreadful pelvic exam, Roger feels and looks like an utter shit when he is brought right into the office of his matchmaker.

Brian had called him a 'therapist' and 'expert' on couples relationships and arranged marriages. Roger just knows him as the person who will be choosing whom he'd have to spend the rest of his life with.

His name is Crystal, apparently and he does not look like a matchmaker at all.

He wears the dark blue matching denim uniform and has a receding hairline which he stubbornly won't admit to. He barely hides a smirk when Roger comes inching into his 'office' (a white room with no windows, no desk, just two couches facing each other and several file cabinets lined up against the wall).

Roger knows instantly that he does not trust this man to find him the Alpha to have a baby with.

"Crystal Taylor." He swiftly gets up from the couch to receive Roger into his office.

They come face to face and although Roger still isn't used to people getting this close to him, he awkwardly extends his arm to shake hands with him. "But please, call me Crystal."

He still isn't sure about the timing of these handshakes. Therefore he waits for Crystal to stop first before he retracts his own hand to follow his matchmaker to the seats.

"And you must be Roger Taylor, right? Oh, don't sit down yet. I have to snap a picture of you for the Alpha candidates."

Roger pauses before he lowers down on the soft looking cushions.

He forces his spine to straighten and the rest of his body follows with a physical groan. Sitting in that dreadful examination chair has taken a toll on his body.

Sometimes Roger suspects he has the bones of an eighty-year-old man.

"Where will you have me?" He asks the matchmaker- Crystal. A girls name. He can remember that.

He is directed to stand in front of a blank wall, the only one not lined up with cabinets. Crystal uses his tablet to snap a shot of him. Roger isn't sure what to do with his face or with his hands.

"Just look right here. You don't have to smile if you don't want to, just look at the lens," Crystal helpfully supplies from behind the screen. "One, two, three-"

The familiar obnoxious flutter of the app tells Roger the first picture has been made.

He relaxes his face and looks straight into the round glassy depth of the lens. A series of pictures follow, at least fifteen more. Roger is sure he is blinking in half of them and a zombie in the other half.

He wouldn't have cared about looking good for the picture on any other day, but this regarded the Alpha he would marry for the rest of his life. He knows full well that his appearance in these pictures will directly influence the quality of Alpha's he will be able to choose from.

"Do they look okay?" Roger asks after the twentieth shot he's pulled a weird face for.

Crystal hesitates on taking the next picture and lowers the tablet to look directly at Roger. "It is not the most ideal lighting, but you look perfectly fine."

Self-consciousness is one of those new emotions Roger hadn't missed out on while he was growing up. 

In Donetsk, everyone always wore a mask. 

Nobody was pretty. Nobody relied on good looks and attraction was a nonexistent concept. Something he never learned how to reign or had been given feedback on suddenly appeared to be the deciding factor for the rest of his life.

That thought makes his skin itch uncomfortably again, as if he was back in doctor Brian's examination chair, naked and bared, only for the means to survive.

"I've had a long day. I don't want my pictures to be shit."

"I'll edit out the bags under your eyes and slap a filter over your face, no problem." Crystal cradles the device in his elbow and takes note of the request with no qualms about it.

Roger doesn't want to get in trouble for not looking like his pictures, but then, he knows that if he gets to be face to face with someone, that he can negotiate his way into a desirable marriage.

He just needs to get a chance to get face to face with the best candidates the settlement has to offer.

"Alright, this should be all the pictures for now, please have a seat and fill out this questionnaire. It'll help me find some Alphas that might be a good match for you." Without looking up from his tablet he hands Roger a clipboard that has a paper and a pencil clipped to it.

Roger takes the offered items with a scowl.

He doesn't think one questionnaire could get him to a potential love match, a therapist on couples should know this. But then, they aren't looking for a love match. It is an arranged marriage. They just need to get along well enough to live together and raise a child.

 _Easy_.

Sitting down is uncomfortable while he is still sore from the examination, but what truly sets his teeth on edge are the questions on the form regarding parenthood and child-rearing.

> **12:** What kind of discipline would you implement for your child(ren)?

> **15:** How many children do you want?

> **21:** How do you believe spouses should settle an argument?

These are things Roger had never thought about before.

He hides his nerves from his therapist/matchmaker, which proves to be difficult with cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

He is starting to think that he should have had at least the _desire_ to become a parent before signing up to the commitment of having a child.

He doesn't want to give up his new life. He has come this far. But if anyone could find out he's a fraud, it would be Crystal and his knowledge about psychology that will look straight through his garbage answers.

Suddenly, Roger is sweating profoundly.

Everything is one big lie about to rip at the seams.

He is one mistake away from being kicked to the curb and back to zero.

He sucks in a deep lungful of air before handing Crystal his clipboard back.

The matchmaker is sitting on the couch opposite to his, waiting patiently with his leg crossed over the other and arms hanging over the back of the couch.

He doesn't look like a therapist at all slouching about like that, but then, Roger doesn't look like a potential housewife. So they both have something to prove to the other.

"I hope that's okay," Roger says in an earnest voice he hadn't meant to share.

"Understood all of the questions?" Crystal asks in a smooth and suspiciously casual tone. Roger answers with a stiff nod. "Then they are okay."

After nodding some more, Roger's hands curl around the edge of the couch, feeling more observed and awkward each passing second of silence that stretches between them.

Crystal's eyes swiftly skim over the questions, sometimes he pauses to raise a questionable eyebrow, but other than that he makes no comment before putting the clipboard down next to him.

Roger wishes now more than ever that he knew how to read facial expressions better.

He has no idea what Crystal is thinking behind the mask of complex emotions. Roger didn't know much of a spectrum of emotions in people back in Donetsk. Not only did everyone wear masks, but everything had boiled down the necessities. People were hungry, people were tired, and people grieved.

There wasn't much complexity to basic needs for survival.

After dismissing the questionnaire Crystal crosses his arms over his chest and directs his thoughtful (maybe), calculating (perhaps), gaze on Roger.

Roger does not squirm. He forces himself not to. Especially because each twitching muscle sends aches to his nether region where Brian's tools had been prodding around.

He waits it out for Crystal to speak first, who does, with no mention of the tension clearly visible in Roger.

"I know we have only just met, but I will do anything within my power to make this... transition into your new life smooth, and I will be here to assist you into moulding this life into a shape that will fit you and your future partner well."

After getting doctor Brian May in his corner, Roger is starting to grow suspicious when yet another of the settlements officials is trying to earn his trust.

Unlike Roger, Crystal the matchmaking therapist, _can_ read facial expressions and smiles at the wary look he undoubtedly sports. He's yet to get better at hiding what he could openly express behind the mask for so many years.

"Roger, we are not all here to make your life hell. I promise you, many of us want to take part in rebuilding a comfortable world for future generations, as well as our own generation."

 _This_ , he doesn't buy.

"Some of us have to endure more discomfort for this ideal future than others." He knows that he shouldn't have said that, simply because these people need to believe that he will gladly carry the children of the future. Yet the muted smile that replaces the playful smirk on Crystal's face, tells him he hasn't completely screwed up.

"I will not deny that this is an," he pauses to find the right wording, "extremely abnormal situation. Perhaps a very upsetting one if we don't handle your mental health with the utmost diligence."

If this is a test, Roger refuses to fail it. "People before used to have children all the time. It wasn't such a mental strain, as you put it."

"Well, you will be having a child with a stranger, move in with them and likely have a few more if your body will agree. That is unusual, I'd say." Crystal switches which leg is crossed over the other, not seeming smug exactly, but still daring in a way. His eyes are glistening. Roger hopes he likes him, not that he's been caught in his lie.

"Nothing is normal these days," he puts, carefully.

"That's correct, but perhaps we can make this less distressing of a time."

Crystal doesn't give him the time to comment, not even when he sees Roger's mouth open to bud in. He continues to ramble on.

"I will be your and your partners future counsellor. You and I will have private as well as couple sessions throughout this process. I don't know what you think of me, but I am more than the person finding an Alpha for you. I will be with you for several years, at least."

Roger gulps. 

Several years... Certainly, they won't send him away after the fertility surgery. Even if they find out he didn't come with the desire for a child, Brian had said he couldn't leave after the surgery. 

Surely they wouldn't kick him out either? Even if Crystal manages to psychoanalyse him after the fact.

He has to be more careful. Appear less nervous and more enthusiastic.

 _This is what you wanted_ , he tells himself. _This is what they are supposed to believe you wanted_.

Crystal continues again without paying any mind to Roger staring off at a spot on the wall right next to his face. He either doesn't notice or he doesn't care.

"We don't want your wellbeing to deteriorate while you are here in our care as part of the reproduction program. If you experience any kind of disruptive emotions, unpleasant arguments with your partner, or abuse, you must report this to me so we can resolve it. I am here for your stability, first and foremost."

Roger remains silent, but he allows his eyes to drift back to Crystal's determined face.

"I will show your application to some of the Alphas who're entering the program and come up with potential matches for you to meet after getting an okay from Doctor May on your health. I know they don't tell you much, so I will be clear. We try to have you settled with someone by the end of the week so we can move you into a permanent place. Do you understand?"

A week.

"Do you understand what I just said?"

Roger has been staring blankly again. That won't do. He forces a tight smile on his face and for his fingers to uncurl where they had been gripping the cushions of the couch with a deadly grip.

"I understand."

-

Roger is grateful for his new bedroom, for the comfortable bed, fluffy pillows, hot water, and air conditioner, but after a week in this new place the boredom sets in.

One can only read the pamphlets about artificial mating and on how to make an arranged marriage work so often before it becomes repetitively depressing. It is the same crap Brian and Crystal had told him, if a lot less detailed and described from behind a rose-tinted lens.

> _How to happily raise your child as a newly married couple!_

And

> _How to be a good Omega to your Alpha: a twelve-step program for a new mate_.

It is infuriating to know that there is plenty to do in the settlement, but nothing of which he can make use.

During the bike tour, he'd seen a cinema, enormous library, indoor gyms, and other facilities to entertain the people who aren't confined.

But until he is matched with an Alpha and moved in with them, he is not allowed outside of the Omega zone.

Whenever the grey walls of his bedroom are starting to close in on him and drive him to the edge, he puts on his jacket and grabs a bottle of water to go for a walk around the block.

He has a lot to think about and he hates sitting still while he contemplates on his life.

The Guardians have let them (the Omegas) know that walks are allowed within close proximity from their residence building.

When Roger steps outside the automatic glass doors he is instantly confronted by a small crowd of like-minded Omegas who are taking advantage of their freedom to march around the building blocks in groups no larger than four.

They are chattering away, most of them maskless now, basking in the sun and enjoying the company of others.

Usually, Roger would find himself enjoying the fellowship of other Omegas and strike up a conversation.

Unlike the people in Donetsk, they are keen on talking and sharing how invasive their pelvic exam was and how dreadful their matchmaker had been compared to others, they link their arms and share the bits of information on the artificial soulbonding or fertility surgery they had each gathered along the way.

Socializing has become a regular occurrence against all odds and something that had kept him sane on the worst days, but today Roger does not feel like considering his disastrous life with a stranger.

His next appointment with his matchmaker is in two days and from what he's understood, that will be the day he gets to select an Alpha not just to marry, but to have a child with and stay with for the rest of his life.

A lot to think about.

Roger grips onto his water bottle and instead of falling into step with the rest of the Omegas, he decides not to make circles around the block.

For the first time in days, since the bike tour in fact, Roger allows his legs to carry him straight forward in the direction of the doctor's office, aimed towards the outward edge of the Omega zone.

His mind is reeling with anxiety, which makes it hard to think and concentrate with the constant zooming of insects around him and the sloshing water in his glass bottle, clutched tightly in his grip.

In two days he will have to make one of the toughest decisions in his life. He will be in charge of determining who will be in charge of him for the rest of his life.

He doesn't know how many options he will get to choose from. He hopes more than two, at least three.

As he walks down the empty streets, he quizzes himself on where he will make compromises in picking a candidate. In his head he forms a fast priority list of essential qualities the Alpha must have.

>   1. The Alpha needs to treat him as an equal, at least, not lesser for being an Omega.
>   2. The Alpha needs to be kind by nature.
>   3. The Alpha needs to be genuinely interested in him.
>   4. The Alpha needs to be well-versed in conversation.
>   5. The Alpha needs to be attractive.
> 


Even with a priority list, Roger cannot squish the feeling of sick discomfort at the thought of having to compromise on any of these points, even the ones lower on the list.

Roger marches onwards, feeling the eyes of others on him as he is starting to go beyond their line of sight.

He doesn't mean to push the boundaries when he is already on thin ice, but in his agitated state, he finds that he can't control the impulse to stubbornly keep walking into the areas he is not permitted in. 

He knows he won't venture out very far or very long, he will return back home within the half an hour, knowing nobody will miss him until then and dinner won't be served for an hour after.

He just needs the space to go for a walk and breathe in the warm air that rushes past his face as he speed walks past the permitted limits on their zone. A cathartic feeling creeps up to him. His legs carry him forward past the forbidden barrier. It makes his heart skip a beat in delight. He just needs to get away for a moment. Away from the restrictions and imprisonment.

To Roger's utter surprise, it only takes one footstep outside of the territory for the chip in his arm to flash in alarm and buzz violently.

A disgusting wet vibration that courses from the implant right through his skeleton and drills on his nerves.

Quickly he staggers back into the allowed radius, wanting immediately for the agonizing pain to stop before someone sees him, but before Roger has gathered his wits enough to stand up on his own and walk back to the permitted area, a group of Guardians arrive on the scene.

At first, his pain-clouded brain signals rapid alarm to the rest of his body, causing him to shiver abruptly. 

He is on the ground, clutching his wrist, gritting his teeth in agonizing pain, wishing he had not rebelled against the most simple rule they'd pushed onto him.

He writhes around until two of the Guardians grab his arms and hoist him onto his feet.

Roger expects the worst, even through the abundance of anguish he realizes that he is in deep, deep shit.

The last thing he expects is to be dusted off and lightly scold him for going beyond the radius.

He expects a harsher punishment, or even to be kicked out, but all they do is wag their fingers and tell him off for not watching where he was going. By the time they escort him back to his building, Roger is still in too much shock to speak.

The technology is very frustrating.

It was a shocking revelation. He really couldn't escape this place even if he wanted to. He would have to cut the implanted chip out before he could go.

He doubts the damn thing wouldn't sound alarm if it was being removed.

He shouldn't think about leaving at all. He's got nowhere to go but down compared to the luxuries and resources in Nagar, but to know that they are trying so hard to keep him in makes him deeply uncomfortable.

Whatever the chip had done with his insides, Roger hadn't felt like eating for the rest of the day and he laid in bed contemplating his mysterious new settlement.

Not for the first time he was left to wonder if things would get clearer once he was allowed to leave the Omega Zone. This place, his bedroom and the concrete walls, it is like a halfway-house.

He wonders if his future Alpha would know more about Nagar and would be willing to explain to Roger the why's and how's of this place.

It doesn't feel quite right, but nevertheless, Roger won't give it up and makes a mental note not to breach any rules for the foreseeable future.

Next time it might be more than a scolding.

That night when he goes to sleep Roger suffers from a series of nightmares. Lucid dreams mingled with tainted memories and trauma.

He dreams about the flood that had swallowed his birth town and his first lungful of volcano ashes weeks later. He dreams about Clare and her large blue eyes blinking shut for the last time before falling into a starvation-induced coma. His mother's knobby fingers slackening as she too slipped away into an endless sleep. The memories are vivid and stomach-churning. He tosses and turns all night. During the worst of the ordeal, he wishes to wake up, but sheer exhaustion forces him under again, luring him straight into the next nightmare. At some point during the night he kicks off the blankets and curls into a ball in the middle of the double bed. He breathes, until he slips into another nightmare laced with reality and the dread for the future.

In the morning, with the first rays of sunshine, Roger wakes up in cold sweat and tears. He uncurls his body and sniffles at the silence of the empty room.

-

"I'm asking you to be open minded about everyone."

Roger can barely utter a word out with how nervous he actually is, therefore he is glad that Crystal continues to ramble on without expecting a response.

"Here are the sheets with their names and pictures. Write notes if you need to and give them a grade. There are also questions on there you might find useful to ask." He gives Roger the stack of paper and a pen. "Remember, these men have already picked you based on your file. They chose you, there is no need to win them over. This, is up to you now, the ball is in your court."

Roger cradles the materials to his chest. The file on the top shows the picture of a bald man. Of course Crystal wouldn't consider that a factor in mate-picking.

"What if I like none of them?" He asks.

The matchmaker indeed doesn't look too amused at being questioned.

They are in a small room connected to the one where Roger will be collecting the interviews in a speed-dating format, as Crystal had explained. 

He gets to sit down, an Alpha joins him at the table and Roger gets five minutes to ask them the essential questions. 

When the five minutes are up, the next one will take that Alpha's place and have his chance at it too.

This format somehow makes him more high-strung. The factor of time had already been weighing heavy on him, but five minutes exceeds unreasonable.

But Crystal is already scolding him without hearing his complaints about the interview format.

Roger knows better than to make Crystal his enemy.

"That is not the attitude you're going to bring in there. Remember," He is not wagging his finger, but it is a near thing. Roger bites his tongue to keep himself from making a comment he sure will regret. "You agreed to the program, so I want to help you find the best person available here. For that to be possible you have to take this seriously."

"Yeah." Roger recognizes the sincere frustration in his tone. He looks down at his shuffling feet. "Fine."

Crystal sighs, and Roger is proud to say he did not flinch when the matchmaker put a hand on his shoulder to give him an encouraging squeeze. "You'll do great. If you want any advice, pay close attention to Reemah, John and Wei. Those are the candidates that stand out."

"Thanks." Roger surprises himself a little when he makes a mental note to remember the names, realizing then that he actually trusts Crystal's judgement.

Then, he is grabbed by the arm and ushered into the room where the interviews will take place. Crystal doesn't follow after him.

"Go get them, tiger."

The sensation of his heart hammering against his ribs grows to uncomfortable levels when he walks into the room alone and sinks down in the chair behind the wooden desk. 

He props his papers there in a neat pile, pen to the side, ready to take notes.

One glance around the room, Roger sees the second door where the Alpha's will come from. The walls are a warm beige, and the table and chairs are the only pieces of furniture in the room, made of refined wood. The interior almost helps him forget that he is still in the clinic. 

A moment later a ringing bell sound heightens his senses in alarm. Roger's back stiffens against the back of the chair.

He glances quickly at the second door and expects the first candidate to walk out, but instead, he hears the familiar sound of Crystal's voice.

"Testing-testing. Roger, can you hear me?"

It takes a moment before he spots the speaker carved into the corner of the table, almost invisible. He slides onto the edge of his chair to lean closer to the device. "Yes, I can hear you."

"Alright, that's good. Whenever you hear the sound of the bell, it marks the start or the end of the five-minute session."

Roger glances around himself and tries to make out if there are any hidden cameras to spy on him besides the speaker. The beige walls are bare. He doubts they could have hidden a camera in plain sight, but he wouldn't put it past these people.

"Roger, you with me?"

He nods at the empty space and pushes a loose strand of hair behind his ear. He's been thinking about cutting it shorter, perhaps to his ears rather than the bothersome shoulder length, but he doesn't want to appear different in front of the Alphas from the pictures Crystal had shown them.

"I'm with you, I'm ready," Roger answers finally. "Just get it over with."

Crystal audibly sighs over the intercom, but he doesn't voice his disapproval, before the sound of the computer-generated bell chimes again and Roger is forced to watch the second steel door open with a groan and the first potential Alpha walks through the opening.

It turns out that Crystal had put the sheets in the same order of candidates' appearance.

A bald man with green almond-shaped eyes and tanned skin finds his way into the chair opposite of Roger.

Mentally, Roger crosses 'attractive' off the mental priority list.

At least the Alpha has a friendly smile.

"Good morning, Roger, it is very nice to meet you. Very nice indeed."He gingerly offers Roger his hand. Roger takes it and briefly allows the touch before retracting his hand and subtly wiping it clean on his trousers.

That man is more nervous than he is.

"I'm Roy, I've been very excited to come and see you."

Roger decides to nod instead of forcing himself to lie through his teeth and return the pleasantries.

He's already fighting to force himself to stay pinned to his chair and not bolt away, back to the first door and demand to know why this must happen so fast and _why the fuck_ there is a man fifteen years his senior desperately eager to marry him.

Without screaming out his internal agony, Roger decides to find the sheet of proposed questions Crystal had drafted up for him.

He puts it on the table next to the files of the potential Alphas and starts with the first question.

He clears his throat. "The first question is," His cheeks redden. His eyes remain fixed on the ink to avoid the invasive gaze of the man in front of him. "What made you choose me as a potential mate?"

"That goes without saying." Truly in awe, he gestures at the general width of Roger's face. "You're breathtaking, absolutely breathtaking."

The five minutes couldn't go by fast enough.

After the bell chimes and the man is forced to take his leave after abnormally long goodbyes, Crystal's voice sounds over the intercom again. "How was he?"

"Too eager for sex," Roger shoots back. "And I asked Brian, this will be a lab baby. I'm not having sex with anybody."

He expects to be scolded or at least to get another exasperated reply, but to his surprise the matchmaker keeps it to a snort and light.

"Fair enough."

The next person enters just a moment after Roger has crossed a line through Roy's name on his file and given him a 0/10, although the scale only goes down to 1. He wants to get his point across in case Crystal thinks 1 still stands a chance.

The next person is a woman, tall and elegant with short shaven curly hair. Not bald, rather stylish really.

She doesn't offer him a hand and sits down quietly after introducing herself as Aneni.

"That's a beautiful name," Roger finds himself saying. A little mesmerized by both her beauty and dominant front. He clears his throat and quickly goes to the question sheet to get out of his head. "Uhm, first question. What made you choose me as a potential mate?"

"I came here as part of the reproduction program, just like you. I need to hold up to my end of the bargain."

"Right." Roger swallows.

Genuine interest in him had been high on his priority list, higher than good looks. The rest of the interview continues with very little energy, making it clear she wants to be here as much as he does. Roger wonders if they could have clicked if they met in the outside world, before the Eradication.

All the Alphas that follow all suck one way or the other and Roger is starting to get a gnawing feeling in his gut that he will have to settle for someone much lower than his already pitiful expectations.

One after the other, the Alphas are too eager, lacklustre, boring, sexist, old, intimidating, pessimistic, or critical.

While his priority list (progressive, kind, interested, attractive conversationalist) had seemed the bare minimum at the time, he hadn't anticipated how many negative traits cancel out the possibility of being with those people, even if they check off half of the points on his list.

"And you must be Roger Taylor, you're even more beautiful than the pictures. It simply couldn't do you justice."

This is Wei, a well-groomed kind looking Alpha who forgoes hand-shaking and opts for a slight head bow.

Roger never got complimented much on his looks before today. 

When he was young he'd been scrawny, too short, too thin, too brittle with fine hair, disproportionate eyes and big ears. Then the apocalypse happened and nobody looked for the faces behind masks anymore.

Nevertheless, his compliment receiving quota has been reached today and he'd grown numb around the seventh Alpha he met.

Wei is Alpha thirteen, out of fifteen according to Crystal.

Roger will be happy when this is over, but he also dreads the fact that this is the line-up he has to choose from when it comes to his partner. None of them have jumped out.

"What is it that you look for in an Alpha?"

This is actually the first time the Alpha opens with a question, which takes Roger slightly by surprise. The point of this thing was that Roger was supposed to have the upper hand here. _He_ would get to pick.

He indulges Wei, though. It is the least that he should do.

"I want to be happy," Roger says honestly.

He doesn't care if it sounds stupid. Wei asked and if Roger doesn't say it, it seems like nobody will say anything about the importance of fulfilment through genuine happiness.

"There will be a roof over our heads, food will be provided, we get clothes and even a baby. All we can do now, is to make sure we are happy."

A moment of silence passes between them before Wei's face morphs into an expression of genuine approval. Roger inhales sharply, suddenly, flipping through his priority list.

Attractive, yes. Conversationalist, yes. Interested, yes.

But then Wei opens his mouth again.

"I am beyond exhilarated to hear you say that. You would make for a lovely addition to the home." He clasps his hands together, truly happy as he looks Roger right in the eye, but somehow straight through as if he were a ghost. "A lovely, homemaker. I was a little concerned when your file said you couldn't cook, but this has completely put my heart at ease."

As if on cue, the bell chimes and the interview is over. Roger is surprised by the sudden sound.

He is certain five minutes haven't passed. It couldn't possibly be, but this is where Crystal decides that it is enough and calls to retreat Wei back. Roger is eternally grateful to see the equally confused Alpha stumble back through the door without offering a goodbye.

Roger, in his surprise, had half risen out of his chair. He sits back down and takes a deep breath.

He expects some kind of explanation or apology from Crystal lets the new one in, but there is no warning before the bell chimes and the next candidate appears through the automatic steel doors. It must have been a little over an hour since they have started, but it truly feels like countless have already passed by and he is starting to feel quite disassociated from the obscure situation.

Roger turns over Wei's file without bothering to fill in a grade. This reveals the picture and name of the second-last candidate.

John, is his name and to his surprise, John is two years younger than him.

By the time Roger lowers the paper, the Alpha whose picture he'd been studying is already seated right in front of him.

 _John_ meets his eyes and instead of forcing a great smile or having to push down uncomfortable eagerness to stay civil, he just remains seated, expectantly.

It is important to note that he is just as attractive as he's in the photo, with his long lush hair and friendly eyes. 

His demeanour is quiet and closed off. 

Roger understands instantly that he will have to take the lead on this one again. That's how he prefers it anyway. 

After this long pause he used to stare at John like a right creep, Roger sucks in a lungful of air.

He starts to fiddle around for the question sheet, lost somewhere in the mess he's created between them on the table. 

It takes a few moments to find it in the pile of papers accumulated in the past hour. Fearing he might have lost it, Roger starts to rustle through the candidate files a little more panicked. The whole time while not a single word has been uttered between them yet. 

This is what triggers the start of their conversation.

"Are you being kept here against your will?" When Roger looks up, John is leaning across the table, with his hand covering the tiny built-in speaker.

"What?" Roger asks, dumbfounded.

"You look frightened."

Feeling utterly stupid, Roger deflates in his chair and completely gives up on finding the right sheet. 

"No, no I'm not. And I don't." He rubs his hands across his face, trying and failing to clear his blurry vision. He's a little flattered that John had appeared genuinely concerned and embarrassed at guessing wrong, when he too leans back and removes his hand from the speaker. Roger grows curious and pushes the card. "Is that common, here? People being here against their will?"

"It shouldn't be," John huffs which doesn't help the redness in his face at all. "People should be questioned alone before they consent to commit to the settlement and reproduction program. Just the... expression on your face. Alarmed me somewhat. My apologies."

"Not necessary," Roger breathes.

John's chin is tipped down slightly in a failed attempt to hide his embarrassment. His hands are held tight to his body. 

He is a little awkward, yes. But Roger doesn't mind. 

"I didn't blow this, did I?"

"No." Roger is surprised to find himself smiling a little. "No, I'm just taken aback. The other guys have been clamping onto the chair handles to keep themselves from jumping me on sight. And that's before the whole fertility treatment. It makes me a little suspicious of what they'll do after. You're... Calm."

"Don't see that as a sign of a lack of attraction towards you," John says quickly, sounding not defensive, but self-assured. "See it as a sign of self-control."

It is a nice breath of fresh air to have someone who feels utterly normal sit opposite of him.

Roger's shoulders relax and he sinks deeper into his chair, hands laid folded on the table. This time without needing Crystal's form, he remembers what the first question was.

"What was it that made you pick me?"

"Your picture was- eye catching. I'll admit that." John smirks a little. The corners of his eyes crinkle and Roger finds himself unable to look away. 

He almost misses what John says after. Almost, if it hadn't been so important. 

"I liked that you mentioned wanting someone who could cook. Someone who can talk about the news. I wasn't expecting that, people don't usually give personal touches on what they want on those forms."

Attractive, yes. Conversationalist, yes. Genuinely kind, yes.

"What is it that you want out of the relationship?" It wasn't on Crystal's list, but it feels like the right thing to ask after what John had said.

On this, John doesn't pause or hesitate. He speaks from the heart.

"I want a family."

"What does that mean?" Roger presses a little further, feeling somewhat suspicious at something that seems too good to be true. 

Again, John doesn't have to think for a very long time. His answers are clear and direct, unlike his questionnaire file Crystal had given on the grading sheet which is abrupt and short one-word answers.

"Children, I suppose," he says. "Domestic bliss. Something new, something to cherish. Something instinctive and unique. All the opposites from the outside world. I want to build a new start from scratch, the way humans were meant to live... Do you think you can provide me a family?"

Roger swallows thickly.

He can almost feel Crystal's smugness over the intercom, but he doesn't let his pride interfere with his future. With his best chance.

Maybe he doesn't necessarily want children, but he will have those anyway and John is someone who wants to work on building something together, on making things better for both of them. 

Roger can give him children for that in return. If that's what it takes.

There are many things he still wants to ask John, to conform, reaffirm, be sure of. _Attractive, conversationalist, kind, interested_ \- but then their five minutes are up and the computer-generated bell chime forces a reluctant John to slide out of the chair and slink back to the door.

He opens his mouth to offer a brief goodbye, but Roger cannot have him go yet, not with how many things he still wants to ask, wants to make sure of if he is really going to give John up as his number one candidate. 

He abruptly pushes himself up to his feet too, as if to follow after him. 

"How are you on Omega equality?" Roger blurts out.

The Alpha, who's taller than Roger would have guessed when they were seated, doesn't even blink. "Progressive."

"Because I can't cook."

A smile quirks the corner of John's lip upwards. "Noted."

-

He marries John that following Sunday.

There is no church service, religion is strictly forbidden in Nagar, but the signing of the marriage paper takes place in what was once a large temple, now stripped off of its paintings and riches to an open echoing tomb. 

Roger had not seen the building before where it is tucked at the back of the settlement close to the fence behind a line of trees. 

It is apparently also the structure where the settlement's leaders govern from.

From the Omega Zone, Roger was put on a train and ushered inside the temple by a number of Guardians dressed in their usual all-black uniforms. Sixty-four other couples marry that day. The Omega's each enter the temple with a cloud of anxiety hung over their heads.

He wears white, but mainly because the majority of clothes he had been given were all white. 

The Guardian by the pillared entrance of the temple scans his wrist and directs him down to the line to the left, her voice bored and low. Roger consequentially doesn't feel like he's walking down the aisle, to his betrothed. For it to feel real, he should be clutching a bouquet, his hair should have been done in elaborate knots and he should be wearing something white and elegant tailored to his body shape.

But this is Nagar, after the Eradication and nothing has felt real for years. 

"Please move along, sir. Down the row on place 55, please."

With a gush of wind Roger forces himself to comply and keep walking forward, fingers clasped together in front of him.

Although it doesn't feel like a wedding, it could have been the perfect venue.

The enormous hall is filled from left to right with Alphas, neatly lined up and dressed in various attires all in the subdued toned colors of the settlement, waiting with an air of nervousness and glee.

Roger keeps walking down, counting the people he walks by until he's at 55. 

As expected, John is standing there, dressed in dark blue overalls, looking quite glorious with his long hair falling down his shoulders and a radiant pink glow gracing his cheeks. 

Butterflies flutter around in Roger's belly when he notices that John looks well-groomed and had a haircut. He had made an effort like Roger had done this morning; waking up two hours early to scrub himself down thoroughly, wash his hair down to the tips and rub ointments on his skin to make himself as presentable as possible for his wedding day with their limited resources. 

It's only the second time they've met and the circumstances are dreadful, with the next couple a meter away from them and dressed in the same mandatory uniforms, no guests, no reception and no organ blasting through the echoing chamber to announce the start of a ceremony.

But the way that John's entire face lights up when his eyes meet Roger and they come to stand side by side, facing the front of the room and the couples right in front of them, has Roger a little weak in the legs. 

It's almost real.

"Hi," he breathes in greeting. "Surprise seeing you here."

"By far the most successful first date I've ever been on," John murmurs back in a private tone. Roger smiles slightly when John shyly offers him his arm. Uncertainty makes him look younger than he already is. "...Only if you want."

"I want," Roger says easily and slips his hand in John's arm. "Thank you."

The touch puts John a little at ease. 

He rolls his shoulders back before relaxing them. Roger takes a moment to admire his side-profile when John tips his chin up to face forward once more. 

Finally, he decides to take a look around himself and the long line of people, Alphas with Omegas and Betas with Betas, all strangers to each other, standing stiff and awkward side by side, to be married. 

They have to stand and wait until everyone has arrived. In the meantime, there is no place for them to sit or do anything else but wait. 

When his legs are starting to go tingly with numbness a group of officials, dressed in the same dark blue overalls, enter the temple and make their way up to the front. 

Roger peeks down to the side to see the two officials take a seat behind a table. Four armed Guardians stand behind them, remaining silent and stoic. 

On the table waits a scanner, a pile of papers, and a delicate pen.

A part of him wishes he could have married here, in this exact location, when there were still statues on the now-empty plateaus and paint along the arching domes. The grim skeletons of what were once great hosts of art pieces are a sour reminder of what once was.

The architecture is old and telling of their location, however much the scientists tried to destroy evidence that could pinpoint where they are. 

From the architecture and train travel time alone, Roger doubts he's in South America, or at a coastal African country. The train either brought them deeper into the interior of the African continent, where the oldest civilizations have intact ancient remains, or he is somewhere in southern Asia, if the domed ceilings give a right indication. 

"I think it's about to start," John murmurs from the corner of his mouth without looking at him.

"Will there be music?"

"No." John sounds a little surprised by the question. Then mildly disappointed. "I don't think there will."

Roger turns his head to the front just like him. "That's alright."

Turns out that John is right. There is no Wedding March or _you may kiss the bride_. 

There is nothing truly ceremonial about it.

When the line moves along and it is their turn at the table of officials, they each sign the marriage contract with the marital agreements. They have to let go of each other's arm to do this part. John signs it first and then passes on the pen to Roger, who is directed by the official where to sign his name.

> **Omega** : _Roger Meddows Taylor_

He'd expected he'd feel different, or at least somewhat hesitant before signing off his freedom forever, but there is something perfectly serene about securing his future here.

After he puts the pen down, the other official gestures at his hand. "Your wrist please."

Roger presents him his arm at the same time as John does. Their marriage is scanned into their chip implant after a monotone beep.

"It's official now, congratulations." The man who's in charge of the papers piles their contract on the second stack. "You are married."

There is no applause, no church bells or camera shutter. Nothing changes.

Next thing they are told is to move along.

It goes against every impulse in his body to comply with the order.

Before he changes his mind or chickens out, Roger grabs John by the collar right in front of the officials and their armed guards and places a warm and tender peck on his parted lips. 

The kiss is as much of a surprise for John as everyone else. 

None of the other couples did it, but Roger had seen it in movies and on his parent's wedding picture. The little voice in his head knows full well that he would have regretted it if he hadn't. 

Roger doesn't regret doing it, even if it takes a second before John's eyes shut and he lowers his chin so Roger doesn't have to stand on his tip-toes to reach his lips.

By the time they break apart, John is blushing furiously and the Guardian gives them an impatient push in the back to move along. 

John's fingers find his and they interlace as they walk back towards the entrance of the temple, for the first time, as a married couple. 

At the first glimpse of daylight, a buzz of nerves and excitement runs through Roger. There are no Guardians waiting outside to escort him back somewhere, there is no group of Omega's waiting for their next instructions. It is just him and John, walking into the sun, hand-in-hand.

John takes them up North, towards the train station. Roger follows along somewhat dazed at how fast everything is going and how fast they are walking. His feet become a blur as he glances down at them. He nearly stumbles over them as John drags him forward.

Growing wary and light-headed, Roger decides he needs a moment to breathe. 

He untangles himself from John's grip to pause and gulp for air. 

"What now?"

John stops mid-step to come and stand opposite of Roger and helpfully block the burning glare of the sun with his height. "We, we go to my apartment- shit," John tries again, " _our_ apartment. Has nobody told you this?"

 _They had_. Roger had just forgotten. 

His mind is still wrapping around the fact that he just got married and is one step closer to securing his future in Nagar in his self-spun web of lies. 

They _had_ told him he was going to start living with John immediately after the wedding. They had even explained that his belongings would be getting delivered to their apartment before tomorrow.

Everything is going according to plan. There is no need for him to panic when things are going according to plan.

All he needs to do is clear his head and ride the wave without blatantly announcing to the world that he lied about wanting children.

This starts with not panicking around his new husband about their new life. 

"Roger?" John asks after what must have been a long stretch of silence. His eyes reflect endearing concern. "They did tell you, right?"

"Right. Of course they did."

Manning up and forcing a smile on his face, Roger grasps for John's hand again and holds on tight.

"Lead the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked it. Please leave a comment if you did


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger and John, two complete strangers, are now married and have to live together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovies! I hope u enjoy the chapter and have a lovely sunday

Roger and John have been married for about half an hour when they reach the apartment. Their apartment. 

It is located in an area Roger vaguely remembers from the bike tour. Situated close to the entertainment facilities and the work district hidden out of sight behind a line of trees. 

The streets here are straight and paved too, with a road that leads from the train station up to empty the residence area. 

They stop in front of a tall sandy building that is only three stories high, lined with large glass windows that look out onto the open road and small woodside. Several identically structured buildings are erected on this block, although none are attached to each other and they each have their own colour tint. Pink, orange or blue.

It is not exactly a palace but it has got more personality than the concrete flats Roger had been confined to and that is all that matters.

John gets the door to the lobby for him after they test if it opens with Roger's chip-wrist also.

It does. 

The technology remains astounding, but Roger withholds his wonder. A lump of nerves has formed in his throat and he is yet to battle it. 

He looks over to John, his husband now, to lead the way.

"This way." John opens his arm wide in an encouraging gesture.

Roger steps through the door, trying not to display his hesitance on the outside. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his white jeans. 

They are alone now, completely alone. 

Unlike the buildings in the Omega zone, there are no Guardians waiting in the lobby for them. It is an empty, sparsely decorated hallway. 

John is much taller than him, he realizes as he shadows after his husband into their new home. 

Much stronger with his broad shoulders and set jaw, he could overpower Roger at any moment, if he'd want to. John looks like a man who has three balanced meals a day and goes to the gym every now and then. 

Roger is a scarecrow, with nicer hair. 

Oblivious or ignorant to Roger's inner turmoil, John silently guides him up the metallic staircase. The steps groan under their combined weight and frightfully, Roger clamps onto the cold steel railing. 

Their flat is located on the first floor, which is a blessing, he can't imagine going much further on this staircase, build long before the Eradication if he had to guess.

The hallway to their front door is eerily similar to the interior of his previous accommodations; bare beige walls and scraped concrete floors. 

All expectations he had of John's flat fly out of the door when he sees it. He thinks it will be fairly similar to the rooms he'd been assigned to the past week. Which is alright. It would be like living at the Hilton compared to the white public tents in Donetsk. 

That's where he was wrong. 

"Home sweet home." After scanning his wrist on the handle, a wave of unease pours off John when he swings the front door wide open for him. 

His posture is all gone, he slouches forward, eliminating his overpowering height when Roger sticks his head into the apartment to take a first look.

Then his jaw drops.

"I got it cleaned before you came. Didn't want you to think it was _my_ place you were moving into. It's yours as much as it's mine." 

John casts his eyes downwards, avoiding eye contact. Roger is still too busy gaping to come up with a comprehensive response, giving John more room to fill the silence with rambling. "It's a whole service they offer to newlyweds. They helped to sort through my stuff, free half the closet space for you. Some drawers... Stuff like that." 

Roger's feet automatically start moving forward at their own accord. 

He senses John following behind him like a shadow that towers over him. 

The flat would not have impressed anyone prior to 2086, but Roger, today, has to pinch himself to believe what his own eyes are seeing. 

Wooden furniture, a fully equipped kitchen, an assortment of lamps, matching armchairs, a couch, clean rugs, shelves with books, so many books, a record player-

"Oh yeah," 

John follows Roger to the record player perched on a wooden stand. 

A glance at the wall reveals to Roger that it is plugged into an _electrical socket_. He can hardly believe it. 

"It's an old thing. And getting your hands on the actual records here is quite the task, but it's nice to have, drown out awkward silence and all of that," He mumbles the last part to himself. 

John is important, Roger realizes. 

Certainly, his accommodation in the Omega Zone had been glamorous compared to communal tents back in Donetsk, but _this_ ; the enormous windows, tall ceilings, the embroidered pillows, well-preserved or completely new furniture, at least _three_ bedrooms and endless hardwood floors, is undoubtfully a luxury. Even for Nagar. 

Finally, he turns around to face John. He squares his shoulders. "Who are you?"

"I'm John?"

"No," Roger shakes his head, equally confused and in awe. "I mean— What do you do here?"

" _Oh_. I'm an electrical engineer," He says as if it is no big deal. Roger waits for the rest. John fidgets, like it is he who is moving into a new place with a stranger. "I designed the electricity network that powers our houses." 

Undoubtedly Roger is gawking again but he can't seem to stop. How someone designed an electrical network without a formal education is beyond him. 

"How old— they said... I thought the form said you were twenty-two." 

"I am," John quickly clears up. "I was trained by my father. He taught me all he knew from before the Eradication. It's why I gained early access to the settlement. I helped set it all up... It's also why I got early access to the soulmating program."

"The reproduction program," Roger corrects without thinking. 

Something flickers across John's green eyes, an emotion Roger cannot place. He realizes that he's made a mistake and that words wield more power than he had anticipated, but the Alpha straightens his shoulders and takes the correction in stride. 

"Right, of course."

After that, they continue the tour of the flat. John shows the two near empty spare-rooms first, referring to them as 'the nurseries'. Roger remains in the doorway and finds that he cannot imagine it as such without a crib or lick of paint to visualize the comforts of a child bedroom. For the time being, they remain empty and bare, two things Roger can live with. 

Next is the bathroom.

"I think you're going to like this," John says with a small smile before he lets Roger inside. 

And _God_ , he is right. 

There is a separate shower with a rain-head and a large bath with jacuzzi jets. He'd never seen a bathroom of this size, or with mirrors that go all the way up to the ceilings. The faucets have copper coloured engraved details and everything is coordinated in the same rustic, wooden, homey palette as the rest of the house. 

Last on the list is the bedroom. _Their_ bedroom. 

They pass through the door simultaneously, passing each other in a selfconscious shuffle. 

Roger can feel the nerves roll off of John in waves, which in exchange puts him at ease. With each passing second, it less likely for John to go all-Alpha on him.

Once they are both inside the bedroom, Roger moves forward while John gives him the space to move about. 

The bed is a kingsize with luxurious green bedding and a mountain of pillows. The bedframe matches the hardwood floors and ceiling. The rest of the bedroom is minimalistic but comfortable, with light brown carpets, green curtains and another armchair. 

It is obviously lived in. 

There is a small stack of books on the bedside table. The wooden closet remains slightly ajar. It is not messy, not truly, but it does belong to someone who has left their touch behind. 

The rest of the house has the same touch of human and home that Roger had lacked for all those years, living from his sleeping bag and the contents of his rucksack for fifteen years.

The bathroom is decorated with all the jarred bottles of products and stray hairs in the bassinet. And the kitchen has an unwashed coffee mug Roger spotted in the sink and fruit riping away in a bowl perched on the counter. 

His few belongings are due to be delivered here before nightfall. They, like him, will have to find a place in the flat too.

Roger walks further into the room and stops at the foot of the bed. 

He stands there for a moment, looking over the bedding like a king would over his land. 

What truly matters is that the mattress looks comfortable and that they won't have to snuggle up to fit.

As if sensing what Roger is thinking, John clears his throat to interject from where he is still planted in the doorway. 

"I could take the couch. You don't have to worry about anything."

Immediately Roger is tempted to say yes. 

The bed looks comfortable and knowing himself, he will toss and turn around if he manages to get too comfortable. The last thing he wants is to provoke the Alpha in his sleep by subconscious touching. 

On the other hand, on a more rational level, Roger knows that if they are to be artificially bonded, that is mated for life, they will need to get used to each other sooner or later. 

Getting used to these arbitrary couple habits should be the easy part. He can't evade it already. 

"It's large enough, I think we should both fit," Roger says calmly and watches closely to perceive the look on his husbands face. If his frown smoothening out subtly is truly what Roger is seeing, John seems relieved. 

A beat of silence passes by. John wrings his hands together. "How about some food?"

"I don't cook, Roger reminds him, causing John to smile boyishly. 

"I do remember. Come on have a seat, I'll scramble us some eggs."

-

The first night together was bound to be awkward. 

John hesitates to strip out in front of him, while Roger had already gotten down to his underwear, after having lived in communal tents for fifteen years, this hardly would have been the day to grow shy. 

Nevertheless, John excuses himself to the bathroom and doesn't come back until Roger has his clothes bundled up on the empty armchair and pushed the duvet back from the bed.

The Alpha re-enters the bedroom in his boxers and a loose shirt. The rest of his clothes are presumably left behind in the hamper. 

"This isn't your side, right?" Roger asks although he already knows the answer. John had cleared the bedside table on this side and emptied out the drawers for him. 

"No, all yours." 

John's body language is stiff and twitchy. He shuts the door and blindly reaches for the light switch. 

Before the main light source shuts off he can feel eyes gliding over his bare frame. Compared to John he is sickly pale and frail, too thin after spending most of his developing years malnourished. 

Roger picks his chin up and forces his shoulders to relax, he shoves his legs under the duvet and slides the rest of himself underneath without breaking eye contact with John. 

He refuses to feel self-conscious for something he couldn't control. If his husband finds his body, unattractive, he can. It's not as if they will be expected to have sex. 

Roger pulls the sheets around his shoulders and up to his chin. He snuggles into the soft fabric, allowing the mild detergent to bring calm over his mind and sleepiness overtake his other whirling emotions. 

He rolls onto his side to face John directly, which is difficult in the dimmed light, provided only by the light on his husband's nightstand. 

"Are you going to stand there all night?"

John's lips move subtly like he's smiling. But not quite. He is uncomfortable about the sleeping arrangement. Roger can tell that John's nervous when he doesn't know what to do with his hands and starts wringing them. "I can still take the couch," his voice is barely above a whisper, "if that's what you want."

Roger props himself up on his elbow, his comfort cocoon be damned, he takes a better look at John and raises an eyebrow. "It seems like that is what _you_ want."

He grabs the corner of the duvet from John's side of the bed and pushes it back. He pats the empty spot it has created and tries to beckon the Alpha with a reassuring smile. 

"That won't do John, we're married now." 

John is younger than himself and more self-conscious, Roger realizes now more than ever. They grew up under different circumstances, in contrasting conditions. Roger is in survival mode, a natural and comfortable place for him to be at, while John struggles to conform to the discomfort forced upon him. 

But he knows Roger is right. He drops his hands and lets his arms dangle by his sides. He tips his chin up and watches Roger thoughtfully, for a moment but each second some of the nerves bleed out of him.

Finally, he chuckles and shakes his head, approaching the bed. "You're good at this." 

"One of us has to be," Roger jokes and keeps his tone light. 

John climbs into bed with him. 

The mattress dips with his weight and Roger can't help but inching closer to him until the Alpha finally settles down.

This close, Roger can smell the sweet aroma of John's hair, the softener on his t-shirt and something uniquely John that seems part of the entire flat but most strong on his skin. 

Roger forces himself to roll onto his back before he can openly take a whiff of him. 

John sleeps with the blanket wrapped much looser around him and with a half-smile, Roger says he won't promise that he won't steal it during the night. 

John turns off the light while he's still chuckling. 

The sheets rustle between them, Roger remains on his back, staring at the dark spots above he knows is the ceiling.

Beside him, John is trying to get comfortable on the bed without moving too much or touching him by accident. 

The Alpha continues to wriggle around for another minute or two until he finally settles down facing away from him.

Roger feels sleep tug at the corners of his eyes. He shuts them after rolling onto his side as close to the edge of the bed as he can go without falling out. He can hear John breathing even from here, heavy and steady in a soothing rhythm. He's certain john is fast asleep, until a gruff sleep laden voice interrupts the silence in the bedroom. "Think we might even turn out okay, you and I."

He doesn't know exactly why it makes him smile into his arm, but it does. Maybe because John isn't already suspicious of him, or maybe because he likes to be liked. Roger isn't sure.

"Yeah," he whispers back, "I think so too."

-

"So how's John?" Crystal opens his tablet and a new document. He crosses one leg over the other before his gaze zeros in on Roger on the couch opposite to him. "Has he been treating you okay?"

After another check-up at the Omega clinic, Roger had been ushered back into Crystal's office for his first therapy session since his wedding.

"I'm not covered in bruises, am I? Brian would have notified you if he saw any, I'm sure."

The corner of Crystal's lip quirks upwards. His screen has gone black by the time he asks it again but in a softer tone. "Have things been okay?"

Admittedly, things have been okay. 

Roger and John are starting to settle into what could be called a routine while Roger is still in the coined 'orientating phase', which is a synonym for, 'keep your Omegas inside or with their Alpha until further notice'.

This is something he had not been told before getting married and John had been very sorry to bring the bad news that when John is at work, Roger has nowhere to go. 

Boredom is bound to catch up on Roger, but for now, John has tried to make amends. 

Apparently, there are newspapers here and there is more information on the outside world than people back in Ukraine were aware of.

Not that the news is particularly great.

This morning for example, John had given some background on the new reports of serfdom on the Comoros islands, which is where the rich and wealthy had found themselves a settlement based on a notorious labour system. Escaped labourers took refuge in Nagar and are now giving extensive reports on the exploitation of the poor on the islands. Fascinated by the news, Roger had gotten John late to work by spending hours asking questions John had been too eager to answer, until he glanced at the clock and figured how late he was. 

He had left in a rush, frantically clattering his plate into the sink, putting his hair up in a hastened ponytail and searching for his bag.

He hadn't left before asking Roger if he'd be okay alone for a few hours, until he'd bring Roger to his appointment in the afternoon. He had scribbled down the directions to his job, in case of an emergency. 

_"Before I go, I just wanted to say that I couldn't get time off work now. I asked but... Not with paternity leave in a few months and-"_

_"I will be okay for a few hours, really..." Roger had insisted while he poked at his breakfast, the poached egg John had prepared. "Don't think I won't go sniffing through all your stuff while I'm gone though."_

_A smile. "Don't get too bored. I'll be back for your appointment with Dr May."_

Roger clears his throat. "He's tentative."

"That's good to hear," Crystal scribbles it down. "Some Alphas get- excited."

John has been very respectful so far; keeping to his side of the bed and waiting for his turn in the bathroom, never invading Roger's space or privacy. 

Roger hadn't thought John would be the type of Alpha to push him into an uncomfortable sexual situation, otherwise he wouldn't have picked him. But he is unfamiliar with the consequences of Alpha's subjected to years of forced celibacy. 

"I can imagine."

"But I am glad you two have kept it civil. John is a fine man," Crystal continues, unphased and rapid. "Your treatment will be starting soon, a package will be delivered to your home with the necessary food for your diet and the medication Brian has prescribed you."

"He was reluctant to tell me about the side effects," Roger says pointedly. 

Crystal picks up on his tone with a shrug and no qualms at explaining. 

"Fatigue, bloating, mood swings, the usual feast. Great symptoms to start a new marriage with."

It is a joke, but the last few days being either chained to John or the inside of his apartment have been tough and Roger struggles to harness the energy to smile. He picks at a loose thread on his white t-shirt. The bland colour is starting to bore him and if his diet package contains tomato sauce, he might try to dye a couple of shirts orange. 

"I signed up what I signed up for."

He is glad when Crystal does not move to take a note on his tablet of his flat tone. Maybe he accounts it to the mood swings that shouldn't have had begun. 

"For our next meeting John will be joining us in our first couples session, we will talk about how he can support you in these potential times of _discomfort_."

"I'm not sure if that's necessary," Roger groans. 

"Better be safe than sorry," Crystal says. What Roger would do to wipe that smile off his face. 

\- 

Roger didn't know that being married meant being alone, a lot.

The 'orientation phase' is starting to catch up on him. Back in Donetsk when he wasn't talking, he was working. Back in the Omega Zone when he wasn't working, he was talking to other Omega's trying to get information about Nagar where he could. 

Not being allowed to go anywhere is infantilizing and disparaging. It might not be safe for him to walk around alone, unbound and vulnerable. He has not seen Guardians on this side of the town yet, when in the Omega Zone they had been stationed in pairs on every block. 

Roger wonders if it is really that unsafe, or if it is just a matter of exercising control. 

For the past few weeks, John had escorted Roger to and from doctors and therapy appointments during his lunch breaks. 

He is still gathering information on when his release will be without making his displeasure known too much. 

He did ask John if this was going to be forever, but John had reassured him it wouldn't be, that he knew plenty of Omega's artificially mated or not, that were allowed to move freely though Nagar. 

Crystal had informed him once he is out of the orienting phase that he will get access to the majority of luxury facilities, recreational classes and a job if Brian approves it.

He couldn't give a specific timeframe, though. Bastard.

Although he knows that it is temporary, Roger feels trapped inside. 

Sometimes he thinks about getting out. He thinks about running up to the front door, throwing it open, climb those heinous stairs and force his way through the lobby to get outside and breathe in the fresh air of Nagar, without having his husband guarding him.

He thinks about it, a lot. It becomes more tempting every hour that he spends alone while John is out at his job, being useful to the settlement with a purpose to his life not attached to future child-bearing. 

Roger thinks about all these thinks. He works himself up into raging fits he has to breathe through, calm himself down from while he hangs out the window, balancing dangerously on the windowsill. 

He remembers vividly how the alarm in his chip had shaken him to his core, that day he had crossed the Omega zone barrier, the agonizing pain is only a memory away. 

He remembers the snickering Alphas who were looking at him when he biked past them during the tour of the settlement, with their pupils blown wide with lust, burning through his flesh and bone. 

In the end, Roger resigns to staying inside every day, for two weeks, waiting quietly for assistance to come. 

\- 

Routine. 

Roger and John both have one, fundamentally different, but they each have one. 

John is an Alpha, therefore he is important and has a job, demanding and time-consuming.

Usually, John is up and about before the first beams of sunlight reach their large bedroom window. 

The shifting mattress always rouses Roger only enough to peek one eye open. He hums in confusion when he sees John's tall figure by the side of the bed, gathering his clothes for the day. 

"Was going on?" Is what Roger murmurs sleepily. 

John's good-natured chuckle is familiar by now, as is the way he pushes the curtains slightly open, so that the sunlight can flood their bedroom in gradual fashion. 

Roger almost bothers to pull himself out of his sleepy haze at the first light, but is always halted by John. His husband leans down and pulls the blanket back over his shoulder. 

"Go back to sleep," 

" _Hmmm_." 

"I'll make breakfast." 

He always shuts the bathroom door with a silent click that rarely disturbs Roger. Like most mornings, Roger only fully wakes up when John is already finished putting breakfast on the table, with the morning paper ready for Roger. Some days he has time to stick around and have breakfast together. Other days, John is out of the door for the next nine to twelve hours. 

"I see you tonight, then?"

"See you, John," Roger yawns into his breakfast bowl. Earning a fond smile before John leaves through the front door, taking all the liberty and freedom with him. 

-

 _So_ , Roger is alone for most of the day. Confined to his thoughts and the luxurious but maddening apartment. 

Had someone told him this would be his biggest problem in the future, back when he was working the fields fourteen hours-a-day in Donetsk, he would have declared them insane.

That Roger, however, had never been in the orienting phase of the Nagar settlement. 

_That_ Roger never had to find ways to fill the void of time. 

As promised, he does a lot of rummaging through John's stuff.

Within a couple of weeks he found out more than enough about his husband, without having to strike up deep, uncomfortable conversations. 

He's pulled out boxes from the back of the closet filled to the brim with scrapbooks and looked through every single picture John has. 

Roger flipped through albums, tons of them, with a touch of envy. He keeps his fingertips off the glossy paper to preserve them, but that doesn't stop him from looking with eager eyes. 

Each picture contains an old, fading image of John with a little less fat in the face and length to his posture. 

If not John himself, the images hold a young woman with John's beautiful eyes and an even younger girl wearing John's face as her own. 

_Sister, Mother_. 

Roger puts them back where they belong, of course. He makes sure that they are all in the right order and neatly stacked without making it seem obvious that someone had messed with them. 

He never knew privacy. As a child he shared a bedroom with Clare and then the terrors struck the earth. He went from one communal living space to the next. He won't pretend he understands privacy when it doesn't suit him. 

It took a couple more days, but Roger located every pornographic magazine John owns. The collection contains lots of twinks and alien comics, a problem for later. 

He found his chocolate stash behind the pasta on the highest shelf in the cabinet. 

A box full of clothes that don't fit Nagar's uniformal dress code. Floral trousers, platform boots, red leather pants.

In one of the spare bedrooms, the nursery-to-be, John keeps his tools and electrical projects. Roger gives up to identify the purpose of the projects and trinkets laying around. They all look like crossed wires to him, random bits and pieces to him.

Moving along, Roger has judged every single book John owns, eaten through his entire sour candy collection in a few days, although he hasn't gotten the nerve to touch the records yet. 

If John notices the subtle ways his things have been moved about, he doesn't say anything. 

He is easy going like that, knowing Roger is getting bored now. And at least he doesn't expect Roger to have dinner ready when he comes home from work every day.

He will have John's head if he tells anyone, including Crystal who would be all too smug, but Roger does make an effort to keep house while John is away. He peel the potatoes and cut up any vegetables in preparation for dinner. He does the dishes and wipes down the counter tops. 

He is not playing housewife, he's just a decent human being. And bored. 

It is obvious John can use the help. His shoulders are tense by the end of the day and he's less inclined to speak, unlike some of their breakfast conversations. His exhaustion reminds Roger of Donetsk and the many hours of hard labour that had wasted his body away. 

It's another thing to find common ground on and another way to fill the time. 

John takes notice, of course, and has the decency to keep a smug smile off his face but just barely. "It's very- clean in here?"

"Yeah?" Roger throws the tea towel at John's face where he's still standing fully dressed from work in the front door. "Don't get used to it."

-

John only has Sundays free. 

Which is okay, if Roger can transition out of the stupid orienting phase and come get a job or some friends maybe, go to the gym or take walks, he'd be actually able to live like that. 

It has been eighteen days since he got married and moved in with John. And it's Sunday again.

Eighteen days and Roger is still amazed by having electricity in the house. 

John has caught him flipping the light switch on and off rapidly in a row, before asking what he was doing. 

John has lived here for much longer and couldn't understand that the continuous humming of the fridge and the motor of the ceiling fan are like music to Roger's ears that remind him vividly of the before. 

Roger can hardly believe it. Even the shrill ringing of the doorbell makes him break out into a smile. 

The bell was actually his grocery package delivered to their doorstep. John courteously carries the bags into the kitchen and puts them on the countertop. 

Roger slides in place next to him and bumps their shoulders together, feeling a little daring today. 

"Do we always get our groceries delivered?"

John pauses, his forehand crinkles in what might be confusion or frustration. "They don't explain anything to Omegas when they come through, do they?"

"To keep us dependent on our Alphas." Roger answers lightly. His tone plays it off as a joke, but they both know it isn't. 

"I won't have that, don't worry." John frowns, sounding surprisingly serious. "The grocery store is just around the corner, a five-minute walk away. We don't have money here, but we have a quota on how much each person can take out every week, always announced on the back of the weekly newspaper but also displayed in the store. You get two milk cartons, six eggs, one loaf of bread and so on. Anything else we get supplemented through vitamin pills. You pay for them with your chip. That's how they keep track. Although none of this will be relevant to you for a little while, I'll bring you to the store some time so you can get familiar with the area. It'll also help the board decide to transfer you out of the orienting phase."

"Really?" Roger asks one beat too fast.

"Yes," John nods in slow motion, countering him. His hesitance puts Roger on alert. "I have been trying to convince them that you've been oriented plenty to get free-range. But I have been at work so much, they believe you aren't ready to transition out yet, not before they're more confident you know your way around better," He doesn't look directly at Roger until he lifts his gaze hesitant with promise. "But, don't worry. I'll take you on walks between your appointments. So they can see on your chip that you've been around." 

Roger tries to hide his surprise. He suspects that he fails miserably, but refuses to acknowledge such. 

"They track my chip?" 

John continues to nod. "There's a tracing funcfion on there. I am supposed to show you around, get you ready to transition out of the first phase and I thought the walks to the Omega Clinic were enough, but-" 

Slowly things start to piece together. Roger looks up to John and sees the determination in his eyes. 

"But?"

"The board of the mating program contacted me back and said that your navigation system should contain more than the journey to the train station and back." 

"Right," Hope puffs up Roger's chest. "Then we know what to do... I thought, maybe it was too dangerous for me to go outside alone."

John's eyes widen. "No? Why would it be?"

_Predatory Alpha's who might be interested in Omega's walking around alone, Alpha's who did not get prioritized for the reproduction program like yourself._

_Perhaps more invisible boundaries that will make Roger's chip sound alarm and knock him down to his knees in the middle of the streets, again._

"No reason." 

It's good to know, if John thinks it's safe, there must be some truth to it. And that the chip reads where he goes and that 'they', the board _are_ keeping taps. 

Roger stores the information away in his mental Nagar file, before they turn their attention to the delivered grocery bags. 

They each tackle one of them, unloading the packages. 

All the items are kept stored in clear containers or tall metallic cups. 

Roger has not been a picky either in decades, not after the famine, not after watching the life fade from his sisters' dreary eyes, but even John pulls a face when he sees what is on Roger's menu. 

"Right."

Insects, a lot of insects. Crickets, beetles and mealworms all stacked together and filling the containers to the top. He ignores those, for now. 

John is holding the box with the dreaded hormone pills. 

They used to come as injections, from what Roger remembers, but these are oval M&M sized pills seem easy enough to integrate into his day, alongside a long list of vitamins. 

"This'll be your meal plan and medication schedule," John holds the paper out to him, Roger takes it, but gestures for John to keep the copy and read along.

His eyes skim briefly over the sheet and columns. 

Three meals a day, medication has to be taken right after breakfast and dinner. There are insects on the menu each day of the week. There is a small section dedicated to the nutrition value, but Roger is too busy trying not to appear too put off by this stomach-churning control exercised on his body. 

"You alright?" John asks after a heavy pause had fallen over the kitchen.

Roger's eyes shoot up to his. 

He's looking genuinely concerned and Roger can't have him being suspicious, mentioning this to either Crystal or Brian. He forces a smile. "Everything to get my cycle to start up again. I'm trying not to- get overwhelmed."

"I heard that it can be really heavy stuff." 

Instead of answering to the air of curiosity, John has put out into the air, Roger proposes a question himself. "I never asked, but what does your treatment entail?"

"I've already had the surgery," John answers instantly.

"What?" Roger blinks. "What kind of surgery-" John's face turns red, Roger pauses. "Oh!"

The Alpha is holding the copy of Roger's meal plan very close to his face. "Yes, the one that, eh, stopped blocking my sperm. Don't laugh! I was sore for weeks." 

Roger stifles his laughter and clears his throat. "Sorry."

John doesn't seem to offended, although his cheeks are still tinted pink when he puts the sheet of paper down on the counter. There is even a hint of a smile curling at the corners of his lips. 

"I've got weekly acupuncture appointments that help my body to produce more stem cells."

Roger fiddles with the edge of the sheet, wrinkling it. "So you are all up for baby-making, then."

Time seems to be slipping through his fingers like fine sand grains. 

He thought that there would be months before the fertility treatments would take effect, but if John is already gone through his surgery and recovered, Roger is soon to follow and after that, if this _actually_ works, a baby. 

For eighteen days he naively thought boredom was his biggest problem. 

"I'm still on testosterone to get my scent back," John continues in his quiet, soothing, tone. "But Doctor May says it can only fully develop after they have artificially bonded us, which is when our fertility will truly be back."

Roger blindly grasps for one of the barstools and plops himself down in one graceless move. He rests his head in his palm, thinking hard without the ability to string two coherent thoughts together. His rapidly beating heart is making it particularly difficult.

He rolls his aching shoulders back. A subdued twinge throbs from his blades up his spine to his neck muscles. 

Outloud, he says, "This is giving me a headache." 

"Don't move," What seems like a second later, a glass of water appears on the counter in front of him and a hesitant hand brushes over his shoulder. Then comes a devious, "I'll cook up your insects."

"Oh fuck you," He declares without any heat behind it. John breaks out into a fit of chuckles. 

It isn't on the dietary list, but John puts the insects in a strawberry smoothie. Roger doesn't even notice they are in there at all when he sucks the juice from the silicone straw.

Despite the teasing, Roger appreciates the gesture and the way John moves around the kitchen tentatively to prevent any clattering cutlery or slamming cabinets. When the groceries are cleaned up, Roger is halfway through the delicious drink already and John can't hide the smile he sports after seeing Roger enjoy the drink so thoroughly. 

"I can pick a record to put on, if you want?" He suggests right after throwing the dishrag over his shoulder. Looking quite fit, in his blue overalls hugging his arms just fine. 

"Sure," Roger says. "Something you like."

"Something quiet. For your head and all."

Roger watches him move around the counter to pop over to the record player. 

There was a strange look in his eyes that Roger cannot identify. Not when he watches John's shoulders flex as he bends over to put the record on the player, and not when John returns to sit next to him and enjoy a glass of water for himself and Stevie Nick's soothing voice prompts his headache away. 

He realizes that day, that he likes Sundays. 

\- 

As promised, two days later, John takes Roger on a trip to the grocery store straight after work.

Perhaps being indoors so much is starting to catch up with him.

There is an irritating crick in Roger's neck from a week of sleeping stiffly, rooted to his side of the mattress to avoid touching his husband overnight by accident. The insects John had fried with his breakfast have left an odd aftertaste on his tongue and Roger has not been outside since seeing Crystal in his office, where all they talk about is having babies and getting on with his treatment. His skin is prickly where he had been taking showers too hot for the weather outside.

What he desperately needs is the fresh air. 

John takes him on a walk down to the enormous, glass-doored grocery store, luxurious and square build, obviously erected after the Eradication, guarded by two armed Guardians. 

The walk there had been uneventful. 

The streets are almost identifiable in appearance as the Omega zone, straight, grey and wide. 

Perhaps it was the hour of the day, but the perfect, straight streets were near empty with the ascending sun and nobody bothered with them as they passed small groups of people every now and then. 

"You know, it really takes a lot of energy to keep these generated," John comments as the glass doors slide open and they enter through. "We use clean energy. It is the only energy available as of now, but it's such an utter waste if you ask me."

It is the first time Roger has heard John speak about his electronics and consequentially the longest sentence he's heard John speak without a subconscious pause to break up the sentence. 

"I am asking." Roger says kindly, working himself up to a smile when John gives him a surprised look. 

"Alright, well. For example," John leads the way into the store pressed close to Roger. 

The store is almost _real_ , how stores used to be when he was a child. There are bright overhead lights to illuminate the aisles, there are rows upon rows of fully stocked shelves and fridges, there are cash registers, people wandering about with carts, chatter, laughter-

It is not exactly the same, of course.

There are no prices or any labels that list anything but the nutritious value plus possible allergen. There is also no plastic packaging anywhere but in the meat section. 

"The aircon has to be on all day around, to keep the employees and fresh foods cool. Completely reasonable. Then there is the refrigerators, the scanners at the registers, tools such as meat cutters and cheese graters they keep in the back, those also need electricity. It just leaves less spare energy in case of an emergency, the last thing they need is automatic doors."

"That's fascinating." Roger can say honestly.

"You're just being polite." 

"No, I'm not." Roger rocks his shoulder against John's and ducks to catch his eye again. His sheepish smile widens when he sees Roger's. "Honest! You're forgetting I've been deprived of human contact for fifteen years before meeting you."

He grabs a shopping basket from the stack and holds onto it even when John motions to take it from him. 

"Hand it over, Rog." 

"No helpless Omega bull crap with me," He says, wagging his finger at a bemused John. 

"It only makes sense I carry my own groceries while showing you around for the first time."

"Do you think I can't look _and_ carry things at the same time?"

"That's not at all what I'm saying-"

John cuts himself off when Roger hooks his arm with his and pulls him towards the fresh produce section. He loudly proclaims, "What fruits do you need?"

"Anything you'd like in a non-doctor approved smoothie." 

"Strawberry then," Roger's mouth waters at the plum ripened stack in front of them. John doesn't hesitate to grab one of the containers from the shelf and puts them in their basket. "Some bananas maybe?" 

"Sounds perfect."

It's still a little awkward between them. 

They don't _feel_ married, at best they're becoming good acquaintances. John is polite and obviously attempts not to clamp up like he's naturally inclined to. 

Roger is aware of the effort he is making. Although the sentiment is mutual, he feels like a fraud doing it. 

There is a genuine quality to John. Something so very raw even in the simplistic way he averts his eyes when Roger smiles a second too long at him. Or how he bites his lower lip when Roger teases. 

Maybe he's been going a little stir crazy being inside all week and having too much time on his hands to think, but Roger fears that they are on completely different levels. That John is here to find love, warmth and family, while Roger has no clue how he could ever fulfil that role. Even with a baby. Even with an artificial bond. 

"I think that'll be all." They finish at the bread section, where John has picked a loaf when Roger shrugged at having a preference. "Anything else you want?"

John is sensing something is off, just for the fact that Roger had gone quiet while they wandered around the store. 

Or Roger was wandering while John walked his usual route around the aisles. 

John is still holding his gaze, trying to puzzle Roger's expression together. He has no idea what his face is showing now, but he forces his facial muscles to relax and his skin to smoothen out any concerning wrinkles. 

"No, that's all fine," He smiles. He _is_ a fraud. His stomach twists when John returns the smile and squeezes his arm. Roger swallows thickly. "Thank you."

"It's nothing, really." 

They make their way over to the line in front of the register desk. 

Roger is still holding onto the now overflowing basket while John unfolds the shopping bags to carry their goods home as they wait in queue. 

Roger takes note that there is a separate line for the scientists. 

There are three registers, two regular ones and one with a red sign that says 'priority'. Men and women dressed in white lab coats and blue overalls are queueing there, faster than their line moves along. 

John follows Roger's line of sight and answers his bewildered look. "One of the perks," John clarifies without having to be asked. "Not my idea."

"You made the electricity network. Why can't you use it?"

"I can," John says, turning his gaze to the man in front of them. 

Roger clamps his mouth shut. Slightly impressed. 

The woman behind the register checks John's groceries into the computer system and then makes him scan his chip. It is the first time Roger has seen John one-on-one interacting with another person. 

John is a man of very little words other than those necessary. He keeps his head down, as well as his shoulder. She seems to recognize him, vaguely. Perhaps he got credited in the weekly newspaper for his work some times, because she keeps her eyes glued on John, but makes no further comment other than wishing them both a pleasant day.

They divide the groceries between two bags, each carrying one, despite John's insistence. 

"It's too hot outside for you to carry all of these alone," Roger argues on their way out through the automatic doors. He tugs the straps of the bag out of John's grip. "It's also too hot to argue."

"Right," John softly says in a thoughtful tone. "You came from Ukraine, it must he quite a difference in climate."

"Donetsk had hot summers, mind you. But I much prefer it here, the clean air means I can just shed some layers of clothes and not walk around in a makeshift hazard suit against the radiation."

"Hm," Roger can feel John rake his eyes over his toned but deadly pale arms. He'd opted on the white overalls as well today, sleeveless and sleek. "That must have been hard."

He doesn't want to talk to John about his past, not today. "Manageable."

One of the guards inclines his head towards John when they exit, but John ignores the obvious gesture in favour of guiding Roger by his arm to take a left. 

"We'll take another route home, a bit longer, but it'll help put some miles on that chip." 

"Thanks," Roger furrows his brow while he allows John to take him in the opposite direction of the store. 

Before Roger can prod into John's odd behaviour, like declining the special shopping line or ignoring admirers, a shrieked-yelp stops them dead in tracks before they can round the corner of the street.

John looks up at the clear sky for a paused moment, muttering to himself as if he knows exactly who it is, before turning around to face the interrupting force. 

Roger follows. 

Someone comes darting, or wobbling across the street in their direction. The figure grows as it approaches them, although Roger can't see them through the beams of direct sunlight burning into his squinting eyes.

"John!" A cheery male voice calls just before he comes to a halt in front of them. "Are you not going to introduce us?"

Roger bites his lip when John inhales sharply, "Right. Roger, this is Freddie. A friend of mine. Freddie, this is Roger, my husband."

Once the sunlight isn't overwhelming his sight anymore, Roger can finally take look at John's friend Freddie. A short, bright man, with a large smile and beautiful smooth skin. 

He's an attractive young man, with cunning eyes, lush hair and full lips. Freddie is also very pregnant, plum in the face and curved around the middle.

When the wind picks up, it suddenly becomes obvious that he smells vividly of virility and fertility. 

He has never smelled anyone like Freddie before. Before the Eradication, he hadn't gone through puberty yet and his senses wouldn't have fully developed. 

The smell overwhelms Roger as well as it attracts him to the source. 

He hadn't noticed that before he could even utter a word out, he had subconsciously taken a step closer to Freddie and leaned into his personal space to have a selfish whiff of his delicious scent. 

To safe Roger from making an utter fool of himself, John holds him back with a gentle touch on the elbow and a knowing smile. 

He recovers awkwardly, face running hot as he finally forces himself to speak. "Hi. I'm Roger."

If Freddie noticed, he doesn't let Roger suffer for it.

"Oh Roger," He clasps his hands together in rejoice. His cunning eyes twinkle with delight, and perhaps mischief. "You are such a doll. Absolutely lovely. _Gorgeous_." 

Last time he looked at himself in the mirror he was pasty and his hair had grown beyond his shoulders. His eyes are large and piercing blue, although for years his vision has steadily declined. He doesn't know beauty or how to wield it, yet it is thrusted upon him since he came. 

"Thank you," Roger responds kindly, unsure of what else to say. 

This time it is Freddie who leans into _him_ and presses his hand to Roger's ear. Roger tenses up when Freddie pretends to whisper as if John can't hear him from where he is planted by Roger's side. 

"Oh darling, he will be all over you when you got your scent and pheromones going. He will be climbing you like a tree, I promise you. "

"Freddie..." John warns. His face has gone red. 

Roger relaxes when he realizes Freddie is teasing and he starts to laugh. "Thank you."

"How are you and Jim doing?" John asks politely. "And the baby?"

Freddie brightens up at the question. "Quite well, really. We're preparing everything for our little Miracle." He smooths his hand down his belly, in a careful hypnotic motion. "It takes a village and she's very active today, so a walk will do us both good." 

"She?" John asks, a little breathlessly.

A smile breaks out on Freddie's glowing face. "Just a gut feeling I have, but Jim wants to keep it a surprise until the birth... I'm just grabbing some groceries and going back to the shop right after-" His eyes rake over to Roger again, they glimmer with something he can't place. "Roger dear, you don't happen to have a job yet, do you? They usually wait a couple of months before they assign you."

He hadn't gotten a job yet. John is still pushing them to let him out of the orienting phase and after that he'll need approval for a job. 

Brian seems hesitant to give him one so soon, although it has only been a month since Roger has arrived in Nagar, doing nothing has been beyond dreadful.

"No, not yet."

Roger notices too late that his eyes keep drawing down to Freddie's stomach. It is obscenely pushed out, big and clearly uncomfortable with how it draws Freddie's shoulders back and curves his back out. 

When he catches himself staring, Roger corrects himself. There is no excuse, even if Freddie is the first pregnant person he has seen in decades and stands for the proof that Roger's future is sealed. 

There is no need to make Freddie feel awkward when he's likely already freaked out over his misshaping body. 

"I'm sorry," He casts his eyes down to avoid Freddie's gaze, or stomach. "I'm a little all over the place today."

Freddie picks up on his somber tone, eyes going wide with excitement. He points at something over his shoulder with his thumb."I maintain the clothing shop in this area, we do all kinds of things, tailoring and recycling clothes from before the Eradication. I could use some extra hands."

Roger looks up. "If-if that's allowed?"

He turns to John, who raises his free hand up in surrender.

"Don't look at me. I am fine with it as long as you don't tell Freddie all of our business, he doesn't know how to keep it to himself."

"Oh shut up!" Freddie rolls his eyes, still smiling bright. He addresses Roger only when he continues, "Is he also being a grump to you at home, poor dear?"

"He's quite lovely, actually." Roger insists comfortably 

"I'll talk to someone on the mating program board to put you through to Fred's shop," John coughs, ready to shift the conversation away from himself. "It can be pushed forward if Brian clears you for work."

"They want to do the surgery first," Roger again nervously avoids Freddie's disproportionate bulging middle. "If it's really so soon..."

"Oh, the surgery," Freddie cups his belly protectively, his face twists in agony. "The _worst_ pain I've ever felt."

"Alright, that's enough now." 

John draws his arm around Roger's shoulder and forces them both to turn around to walk into the direction of their flat. "Thank you for that, Freddie. We will see you around," He calls over his shoulder.

Roger cranes his neck to offer Freddie a final smile as a goodbye, only to have the other man deviously beaming back at him. 

He winks at Roger, but only when John has turned away. 

Freddie's overwhelming scent lingers in Roger's nose for the rest of the trip home and the shape of his stomach makes his own twist and churn. 

He has a lot of questions on the tip of his tongue ready to betray him if his stiff demeanour hadn't already; _if Freddie's scent was so alluring because his pheromones are back, or because he is pregnant and if Roger will smell like that too, if John will, or if they will have their own distinct smell, how long it took for Freddie to get pregnant, how long it will take for Roger to get as round and uncomfortable as him. How long before Roger has to extend his act to acting like a caring parent_. 

"They're saying they might have a report on the Rwanda settlement in next weeks paper."

Roger turns his head to John as they walk down the unknown wide grey streets. 

He sees the determination in his husbands light green eyes that shift colour in direct sunlight. 

He fears that John is figuring out that he's nothing but a fraud and that he tries to ignore this fact just as hard as Roger is. 

He fears that he will live a life of lies and take John down with him. 

He should feel guilty to lean into John's tactic and ignore the way pregnancy makes nausea rise like high tides up his throat. He should tell John now, before it's too late that he should find himself someone truly happy to start a family with him. 

"Really? How did they get the information?"

"Some newcomers from there claim to have been higher-ups. There's still investigating going on, but I think you'll find it fascinating."

"If it's anything like the piece on the Coromos Islands, consider me hooked." He says, bumping his shoulder against John's on the same side where their arms are still tangled. With all thoughts of childbearing and mating shoved aside, he can clamp into the topic of politics and relax while ignoring his enforced biological destiny and how wrong he is for taking John down this path with him. 

"They have an excellent journalist on the job from what I've heard... After all these grave reports I do wonder often if people out there have found other safe places, like Nagar."

"I doubt it," Roger answers honestly. 

John catches the meaningful tone in his voice, but does an excellent job at letting Roger forget. He doesn't miss the way his eyes soften. 

"Yes," He squeezes Roger's hand in a reassuring manner. Their fingers tangle together instinctively and they fit together comfortably. "I'm glad you're here, then." 

With so many lies out there, Roger is glad when he can speak the truth. 

"I am too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how how about weekly sunday updates? Let me know what you think and hit me up on tumblr! @emmandorlando we can be mutuals ❤️


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger waits for approval to get a job. John worries he might be going insane. Perhaps all the new hormones make everything slightly worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Enjoy this 11k chapter dont expect this every week thank you. Hahaha! 
> 
> Also please mind the tags and warnings before reading and have a good sunday all!

"I'll try to be home in time for dinner, but I can't make any promises."

John puts his bowl of the balanced dietary-oatmeal down in front of Roger on the dinner table. 

"Thanks," He's still rubbing the sleep out of his left eye and misses the spoon until he grasps it on his third attempt. "And that's fine. I understand." 

When John remains promptly silent, Roger props his chin up in his hand to look up at him where he is hovering next to the chair. 

A series of conflicting emotions flash across his husbands face. _Worry, nerves, a hint of affection._

John remains somewhat of a mystery, even though it's been a month since they have been together. 

He's kind and strangely patient when it comes to Roger, a patience he doesn't extend to anything or anyone else, he remains uncertain in many aspects and is prone to clamping shut.

John's legs are stiffly pushed together and he rubs his palms in a nervous habit of his. When he does this, he often says one thing but means something completely different. 

"I hope Brian cleared you for the job so you can get around more." 

It is truly too early to attempt to decipher him this morning, honestly, Roger says, "I'm okay, John."

"You've been cooped up here."

"I am cleared to go for walks now," Roger argues. "Makes stuff a lot easier. And you don't have to drag me from appointment to appointment anymore." 

Still, John won't meet his eyes. "I don't want you to think that I think Omegas should-" 

"I _know_ ," Roger insists, more pointedly this time to stomp the jitters out of John permanently. "You don't want me to be an Omega-thing for you to keep the house. And I'm sure your recommendations to the reproduction program's board will help me get my job application through Brian." 

John is still standing there, lips curled downwards, fussing over him. 

He appears even taller when Roger is sitting and he is standing and from this angle, his eyes as green as emeralds. 

He casts them downwards, further down than Roger, evidently talking to the floor. "I want you to be okay."

"John," Without thinking, Roger drops his spoon into the bowl with a clatter to grasp at John's hand which surprises both of them. 

Roger blinks up at his fidgety husband and clasps John's fingers a little harder, with more purpose, there is no going back now.

"I'm alright. I really am."

John's eyes grow wide and curious, finally zeroed in on Roger. His hand curls around Roger's a beat too late and his lips twitch like he wants to say something but then decides against it. 

A moment later, his fingers slacken until he can slip out of Roger's clasp. "Good luck with your appointment today. I'll try to be here for dinner, I hope I come home to good news." 

"Me too. Have a good day, John."

John grasps for his bag on the other chair and slings it across his shoulder, smiling kindly down at him. "You too, Rog." 

Roger returns his smile before going back to his breakfast without fully understanding why his heart is still racing in his chest, even when John is long gone out the door. 

He concludes (that is, after his bland although secretly honeyed breakfast) that he is flattered that John understands that this is no way for someone to live, Omega in a fucked-up post-apocalyptic world or not. 

He thinks about it a lot, about why John says the things he does. Or why John worries the way he does. 

A larger, more rational part of him, is worried that John is figuring him out.

Connecting the dots that Roger got here on a lie, that he is unhappy because the clock ticking down to his inevitable future that will not become any less worrisome with a job. 

John is smart and calculated. Every day Roger is starting to realize that he will figure out that the thought of a child doesn't cause a million butterflies to flutter around in Roger's belly. That it was just another condition to agree to in order to make his life easier than it was before. Something selfish. Something that deems him completely unsuited to raise another human being, brought into this terrible world for Roger's needs. 

John isn't like that. John won't _like_ that when he finds out.

If Roger is already acting suspicious four weeks into his marriage, how on earth will he last through the rest of it? 

He promptly pushed himself away from the table to clean his and John's dishes in the sink. The splashing of low pressure water doesn't drown his worries out. 

-

Roger was cleared out of the orienting phase only a few days ago. 

Upon being levelled up, he was sent a letter from the reproduction board providing him with congratulations and a list of new rules to stick to. 

Remain within the walls of Nagar, do not go outside past midnight with or without his Alpha present, the restrictions on which leisure facilities to use (which is on all of them, unless he is granted permission by the board upon a formal request). 

Overall, the rules had been fair and manageable. Much more so than being alone inside their apartment all day.

To Roger's utter delight, he was given an electric bike the same day he received the letter, which he now uses to get to his therapy and doctors appointments without needing John there.

The vehicle unlocks automatically when he swipes his chip over the scanner just above the front wheel. 

The sky is completely blue and the streets are relatively empty today, which proofs to be a perfect day to hop onto his bike and take the long route to the Omega facility. 

On his way over Roger does not get bothered by the few other people he passes. They look at him, casually and curious, but nobody bothers him, therefore he keeps to himself and doesn't acknowledge them in return. 

His eyes are fixed in the road in any case. Nagar remains somewhat of a maze with how large it is and how some of the new areas have completely identical buildings. He needs to pay attention to where he's going. 

As he bikes down the wide paved roads, the vehicle doing most of the paddling labour and the wind blowing softly through his hair, he takes a good look at his surroundings. He always does. 

The sun is high in the sky and the blue sky is free of any blemishing clouds. The tall buildings of Nagar reach up towards the heavens. And not for the first time, Roger tries to guess where he is. What continent, what country and region. 

He thinks about all the buildings, the smaller ones with bright colours and uneven architecture, like the one he and John live in, and then he trails off and wonders how much blood they must have scrubbed off the walls. How many bodies they have had to carry out, glass and overgrown vegetation they had to clean from the gaps in the street. It certainly must have taken a lot of work and a lot of time to wash it all away. 

Nothing of the struggles is visible anymore. 

He arrives in Brian's office without any trouble, although he is oddly spacey today. 

They have a routine now too, Roger parks his bike outside the Omega facility and is made to wait in the lobby for less than five minutes, he is called into Doctor May's office by a lovely looking nurse, he undresses without waiting for Brian's instructions, wriggles into the papery gown and starts flooding the doctor with questions while he pushes and prods Roger from a scale, to measuring tape, under an x-ray and through several blood tests. 

"I was told the surgery is extremely painful." 

"No more painful than bearing a child," Brian absentmindedly comments while he bends over his rapid blood testing station. His large frame and labcoat block the view from Roger. "You will be fine."

The results that come out no less than a minute later seem to please the smiling doctor. 

Roger sits naked in the useless paper gown on the examination table, he leans back on his palms while his legs dangle down to the floor and waits for the blood results impatiently. 

The room is drafty and the cold bites at his bare toes that hover just above the tiles. 

He studies Brian studying the data that had come out of his blood test. He taps around on his tablet screen with his spider fingers, until his fascial expression gets matched with a delighted hum.

He lowers the device to direct his smile at Roger. 

"I am very pleased with your hormone levels. They indicate that you should start menstruating within the next week or so. Congratulations," He doesn't wait for Roger to accept the good wishes, "I will provide you with some maxi pads before you leave and a cheat sheet on how to use them." 

Brian keeps casual in his professional voice, but Roger can still feel the awkward push behind the words. He remains silent while his doctor rambles on. "Discomfort is perfectly normal, if you are in pain have John call for me and I will come for a home examination just to check if you are alright. Usually, all you Omegas need is some painkillers and perhaps a heating pad to get through, but it is better to be safe than sorry. I don't mind a home visit."

Roger shifts and the padding of the exam table rustles beneath. "When do we do the surgery?"

"I first want to have you on your cycle and see you stick to the diet before we will proceed with the surgery. _After_ the surgery, we will shortly bond you and John artificially, so instead of rushing the process," He says pointedly, "it might be wise to use this time to get used to each other."

"How long is the recovery after the surgery?"

Roger doesn't care to speed up this process at all. He knows Brian said it to get him to stop prodding for information the doctor isn't allowed to give yet. 

But when they hold each other's gazes, sharp and unblinking from Roger's side, Brian knows he'll be giving in. Sighing pointedly. 

"The recovery period is two weeks at a maximum. You will be quite sore for a short while, but it is a low-risk surgery, really nothing to worry about, I promise."

Brian balances the tablet in the crook of his elbow, gazing down thoughtfully at Roger's file. 

He has gained the right amount of weight which did please the kind doctor. He had praised the bloodwork as well as his new measurements around the hips and waist. 

The whole pregnancy business is coming very close. Roger finds himself stuck in the paradox of needing all the information to prepare himself for the procedure versus wanting to distract himself from what he knows is invertible if he wants to keep his new life. 

Roger draws one knee up to his chest, to rest his chin on while he watches Brian carefully. 

"Can I be cleared for work?" He blurts out. "Right now, I mean."

Brian only raises an eyebrow. "You should be using this time to get closer to John."

"John works during the day. And I don't cook or clean, much," Roger argues with a disgruntled huff. "I can be useful to the settlement. It'd be good for me to make friends."

Brian seems stuck between accidentally quirking up a smile and frowning very deeply. Instead, he opts to turn away and put his tablet down on the edge of his desk.

"Right," He rummages around his stack of messy uneven piles balancing dangerously on his desk, he finds what he looks for after a while. He holds the paper bundle up for Roger to see. He can't read the letters from across the room, so he remains silent. "Well, I did get the request for a job application and the board informed me John has been _very_ insistent."

Roger cranes his neck when Brian flips the thin folder open with a low hum. His eyes rake across the paper rapidly as he speaks. 

"I see you want to work with Freddie." He looks up, clearly amused, "I am not sure if he'd be a really good or really poor influence on you." 

"I guess we'll find out," Roger says, smiling back for the first time today, a true smile. 

Brian exhales through his nose, feigning exasperation as he shuts Roger's job request. 

"Alright," He gives in, but with a finger-wagging at Roger, "Stick to your diet. Only do light exercises, nothing heavy or exhausting and notify me if you feel anything abnormal. Anything at all."

"So you're clearing me for work?" He clasps his hands together around his knee in a semi-praying-begging position. "Yes?"

" _Yes_ ," Brian nods firmly. "And don't make me regret it."

\- 

Roger is in a bad mood. An awful, _vile_ , mood. 

A mood projecting so sourly that John is shooting him worried glances from the corner of his eye. 

"This is also important for you, Roger," Crystal gives his slouched over figure a thoughtful look before correcting himself for studying Roger so openly, and he turns back to business. "You _and_ John will have to partake in these couples-exercises. I need you to pay attention too."

Roger rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes where the base of his headache beats, "I am listening," he says with no true indication that he is.

He imagines Crystal and John sharing a look and a shrug from either. He can almost feel John's shoulder move beside him on the couch. The near-touch prickles irritatingly under the surface of his skin. Subconsciously Roger scoots over the furthest end of the couch to create some space between them. 

"The first exercise I recommend is a rather easy one, known as the game of truths." 

"Like two truth, one lie?" Roger lowers his hands to direct his glare at Crystal. "Really?" 

"Considering this is not primary school, no," 

The therapist reaches for a stack of stapled papers from his desk without getting up. He hands it over to John without as much as glancing at Roger. "This is a cheat sheet with questions to start out with, 'what is your biggest fear' and that sort of thing. It is a good way to find mutual ground and understanding." 

"Thank you, Crystal."

John keeps the bundle of papers in his lap and folds his hands politely on top of it. Roger can't help but rake his eyes over the toned muscles and popping veins of his bared arms. It causes his face run hot with interest. 

Then he curses John, inwardly.

Cursing him for pushing his sleeves up all the way to his biceps. He curses him for being tall, dark and handsome. Ignoring the fact that he chose John for being all those three things. 

He's only realized he's been glaring sideways at John when Crystal clears his throat pointedly to coax him back and continues, "The next one is a little more intense, but proven to be very effective." 

John flips three pages of the paper bundle and reads out the title of the second exercise. 

"Eye-gazing?"

"Eye gazing indeed- not _glaring_ , but an intimate practice where you face your partner in a seated position without touching but nearly so, and look into each other's eyes." 

That sounds like possible torture to him and he's worked the fields in sub-zero winter seasons. 

Roger opens his mouth complain, but he is cut off by a perfectly timed Crystal. "You must hold eye contact for at least three minutes and before you ask, it is not a starting contest. Blinking is allowed."

"Blinking," John tries for a smile but it is a little hesitant where it is faced with the dark cloud Roger represents on the couch next to him. "Noted."

"It is all in the bundle, but I would just like to go over the most important ones with you both before I let you off."

Roger had woken up this morning with an aching back, cramping stomach, a headache from hell and no patience. When he had remembered the first joint therapy session with Crystal, he had considered flinging himself out of the window but then considered jumping from the first floor would only result in two broken legs and a lot of explaining to do. 

Therefore he had manned up, pushed himself out of bed when the cramps subsided enough and stood under the hot spray of the shower for thirty minutes hoping they would go away before he would have to answer to Crystal.

Alas, here he is, in agonizing physical pain and as tired as he'd been after sixteen-hour farming shifts in Donetsk. He's tried to hold his tongue this far, but that was before Crystal brought up cuddling therapy.

Because really, that is not what he needed today. 

"You're joking," He says, not asking. " _Cuddling_?"

Crystal's face remains perfectly neutral, like he is emphasizing that Roger is overreacting. Arsehole. "Extended cuddling time, yes. And I am not joking, no. The chemicals that are released when we cuddle with our partner improve our mood, deepen our connection, and can even help us sleep better," there is something he wants to say, he opens his mouth but upon second thought, upon seeing Roger tense up, gritting his teeth with discomfort, he decides against it and tries for a calm smile instead. "I think that we could all use some good nights sleep."

"Certainly, been knackered lately," John interjects with a stiff nod. Roger pretends not to see how he holds Crystal's gaze meaningfully. "Perhaps this is enough for today?"

"Perhaps that might be for the best," 

All eyes turn on him. 

And suddenly, as if a bucket of water had been dumped on his searing hot face, Roger realizes how much of a dick he has been all session and that they are ending it because of him. Their first couple session. He could kick himself, curse his own name and scream in frustration because so far, he has been digging his own grave to get discovered for being a fraud. His reckless, deeply embarrassing behaviour will not help keep his intentions hidden from the two prying men. 

Although hyperaware of this fact, he can't find the energy to straighten his back and string a sentence together to excuse his thoughtless behaviour. 

All eyes are still on him.

He hadn't realized that he'd dug his shaking fingers into his thighs in trying to stop them, not until John wraps hand around his wrist and tugs it away. 

On their opposite end, Roger catches Crystal's eyes soften after he tips his chin up and subtly sniffs the air. 

Decidedly, Crystal hums and sits back.

"Is it alright if we stop here today?" He asks in a gentle voice, betraying that there is more to the question than Roger understands.

What he does understand is the fact that he's positively starving and that the lights in the office make him want to bang his head against the wooden desk until all the lights turn off. 

He allows for John to tug him up to his feet and away from the couch. He too, has a shift in expression that is both knowing and secretive. 

"Yes, we should go," Roger bites out after finally straightening his stiff body up. He refuses to look away from Crystal no matter how much his instincts scream for him to lower his eyes. "Thanks for the exercises." 

"Can't wait to get a report back about them during our next meeting," Crystal says easily.

He walks them to the door and needlessly holds it open. 

John slips out first after a murmured goodbye, holding their homework bundle in one hand and Roger in the other.

Roger bids Crystal good day with what proves to be his last ounce of energy, in return he gets an unexpected warm hand on top of his shoulder that makes him pause halfway through the door.

"Take it easy Roger," Crystal says solemnly. "And ask for help when you need it."

It's one of the most random, infuriating things someone has ever said to him. But the sincerity in Crystal's eyes seems cruel to question in front of him. Perhaps swallowing his snark down is what truly stole his last bit of energy.

"Yeah," He answers, "Sure."

\- 

When they get home, John is well aware that he needs to be walking on eggshells around him.

The walk home after the session should have calmed him down, but instead the lack of energy has fired him up. Roger realizes, although without understanding, that he is upset. 

Every single part of him feels like a bucket one droplet away from getting overflown. 

He wonders, angrily, without any substantial rational reasoning, _what the fuck_ has become of his life. 

He is standing in the kitchen bend over the sink, washing John's dishes while his _fucking_ insects are slow cooking in a pan on the stove. 

John gets to have rice today, also cooking not the stove crispy and warm, with a chicken Roger had seasoned for him this morning to let it marinade. 

It truly isn't fair. 

John gets to sit in the living room on the couch, 'going over notes', he had said. _Lied_ , Roger thinks bitterly to himself. He knows Roger wouldn't be able to protest if it had been a work matter. 

Besides, John probably doesn't want to be in close proximity to a ticking time bomb of misery anyway. Roger had done nothing today to prove himself good company the way he had for the past month living with John. A part of him knows he deserves this. Another part of him, is furious. 

Perhaps it is because he's looking down directly at the difference of their meals. A plain insect-salad versus a chicken feast. Maybe it is because he's been bend over the sink for a minute too long with his aching back pulsing painfully at the base of his spine. 

All he knows is that he is outraged. And hungry. And so very tired and upset, because _how_ could this possibly be his life? 

He doesn't know how it happens, but he throws John's favourite mug that he had been scrubbing across the counter. 

It lands with a clattering splash in his insect pan, now brewing in soapy water. 

Without looking up from the carpeted floor or meeting the eyes now fixed on him, Roger turns on his heel and disappears into the bedroom in five fast strides. 

White-hot embarrassment washes over him as quickly as the anger had. He slams the door shut and crawls with all his clothes still on into bed. 

He pretends as though he doesn't notice that he's pushing his nose into John's pillow, not his own. 

He buries his face from everything, including himself after behaving so ridiculous today and putting it all on the line because of one sour mood. He clutches at the fabric angrily and hates himself for lacking self-control. 

Everything inside himself is turmoiling and weighing heavy on his fragile emotions underneath the thin shield of rage. 

He tells himself that he hates Crystal for proposing the most ridiculous couple exercises in the world. Despises him for noticing Roger needed a break in the most condescending manner possible. 

He hates Nagar for making him have a baby to stay here, where he can sleep on a real mattress and shower with hot water. He hates them for making him lie about wanting children so he can have access to his basic necessities. 

But most of all, he tells himself that he hates John. 

Roger fists his pillow angrily and inhales whatever lingers of his scent, there is nothing he can tell himself to excuse the action. 

It would take forever to list all the things he hates John for right now. 

For making Roger feel inclined and comfortable to clean around in the kitchen and cook, while he explicitly told him he wouldn't make a housewife. 

He hates John for being utterly _genuine_ and wanting a family. Because if they were both just holding onto their end of the deal, a balanced bargain, Roger wouldn't feel like such a fraud. 

He hates John for giving him space when Roger actually needed it without knowing himself that he needed it. John should be younger and stupid-er than him. Roger has lived more lifetimes than John has, lived in more hardship than John will ever know. Why should the Alpha know more about his needs than he does? 

In the end, John waits a long time to come and see if he's alright. 

Roger is both resentful and grateful for it. 

By the time the bedroom door creaks open and he does come to check up, Roger is way past rage and kind of wants to cry. 

The mattress dips where John sits down on the edge of the bed. Roger still has his face shoved in the pillow when John puts his hand on Roger's head and smooths his hair back. "Are you okay?"

A billion things are on the tip of Roger's tongue. They all start with ' _I hate-_ ' and none of them are truthful.

The subtle pain in his back has transported firmly to his front, making it feel safer to curl up in a ball and never be found again. John is there with him, with soothing touches and his quiet voice. Roger knows it better to be truthful. 

"My stomach hurts." 

The fingers threading through his hair rest for a moment. He can hear John sniffing the air close to Roger's neck. He says after a long pause, "I can smell you." It is comforting when he sounds young and hesitant, Roger feels less alone, "I think. Perhaps, that your cycle has started up."

"You _think so_?" Roger asks in a tone meant to be sarcastic but comes out rather pitifully.

"I," John goes back to stroking his hair, his fingertips cautiously rub over his sensitive scalp, Roger begrudgingly relaxes under the ministrations. "I fried some chicken for you. I thought maybe it was better than, dish soap crickets."

"Maybe. Yes." 

"Are you okay?" John asks more carefully. And Roger knows he is being a real jerk, but at least when he pushes himself upright and leans forward to wraps his arms around John's neck and buries his face in his chest, he can hide the tears welling up in his eyes. _Fuck_. This whole actively being an Omega business is tougher than he had thought.

The Alpha is obviously surprised by the sudden touch, but instincts set in quickly after that. Even without their scent, an Alpha would feel inclined to protect those vulnerable around him, or so Crystal had told him. 

It is that instinct that Roger relies on when he begs for John to give in and allow Roger to cling on until his emotions become manageable again. Manageable enough to have conversations about menstruation and mood swings. 

John waits for Roger to pull away. He remains stiff and awkward on the mattress, waiting in vain. 

When he realizes Roger is not going to back out, he clears his throat and lifts his arms to wrap them gingerly around Roger's shoulders. It is exactly what Roger wishes for and despite the tears rolling freely down his puffy cheeks, he feels relief wash over him when John pulls him flush against his chest. 

The only time they have ever been this close was during their wedding. During the kiss they shared. Despite the circumstances he only has fond memories of that. 

Roger rubs his nose against the softest patch of skin of John's neck and inhales shakily. 

He keeps his tears silent but that doesn't mean John won't notice the wetness on his skin. 

He doesn't mean to alarm John, but the Alpha starts to rub his hands up and down his back with his flat palm pressed gently to Roger's aching muscles and shivering bones. 

John's chin rests on top of his head, their position allows the closeness to tuck himself away under John's chin. His knees are curled and splayed across John's lap. His fingers itch at the back of his Alphas neck, not allowing him to move away any further than his current motion of rocking them from side to side.

"Are you alright, Rog?" 

"Yes, I'm alright," He sniffles meaningfully, realizing that he is being hormonal, something that is forgivable in the bigger scheme of things. "After some fried chicken, I think I'll be fine."

He doesn't let go, not yet, in fact, he holds on tighter in case John gets the wrong idea. 

"John. I'm sorry that I-"

"Fried chicken it is," John promises without letting Roger finish, without letting go. "Whatever you want."

Roger is stunned silent once again when John tips his face down to plant a kiss on the crown of Roger's head. A tender, affectionate touch that curls warmly around them both. 

"It's alright," He whispers. Roger can't help feeling utterly relieved.

"Fried chicken it is, then."

-

He doesn't know where Freddie's shop is located so John has arranged for them to meet by the train station, one of Roger's known landmarks. 

From the train station (an extravagant word for the place where the train stops occasionally with no roof or benches. There is a sign with the scheduled times the trains arrive and where they stop and a clock to keep track of time. Other than a neon yellow line painted on the road, there is no barrier that separates the train tracks from the so called 'station'), one can see the large fences that separate Nagar from the outside world. 

His eyes keep drawing to the enormous structure, standing tall and proud behind a thick line of trees. He remembers from the tour that they are under high voltage, but Roger assumes that his chip will put an end to any attempted escape before the fence could. 

Between his hormones and figuring out how the fuck to use maxi pads, he hadn't thought about escape much. Fleeing the settlement seems almost a redundant thought with his restarted menstruation cycle.

His focus lies in the longterm future now, with convincing John and having a baby to anchor him in Nagar. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Freddie yells his name from across the tracks. By the time Freddie has waddled his way over, he still has his hand rested over his thumping heart. 

"You scared me," Roger gasps in disbelief at how far his mind hand wandered when left alone in the silence for too long. He swallows down his doubt and turns fully to the other Omega, allured by his hypnotic scent and flushed face. "You can be quite scary."

"Don't be spooked it's just me," Freddie smiles brightly at the greeting and opens his arms wide for a hug, "Roger, hi!"

He waits not for Roger to initiate the embrace further, the other man pushes the swell of his belly flush against him and his arms wound tightly around Roger's shoulders. 

He pulls away before it can turn awkward and puts his hand on Roger's shoulders instead, to study his face with a furrowed brow. 

"Are you well, dear? You look a bit pale."

John had warned him not to tell Freddie too much, mostly in jest, but there is a moral of truth in every joke his mother used to say.

Nevertheless, Freddie is the only other Omega Roger is currently in contact with and the only person who could possibly understand what he is going through. Freddie might like to gossip, but his eyes are kind and sincere, Roger finds himself speaking honestly because he feels warm and safe.

"I'm on my period," He admits from the corner of his mouth. 

Freddie doesn't need to hear much else. He grasps Roger's arm and hooks them together, with Roger taking some of Freddie's weight. They walk down to the store like that together, remaining close. 

"Oh goodness periods, the absolute worst. Especially while you are on those terrible hormones," Freddie waves at the air with his free hand, as if he brushes away memories of the past. His other hand smooths up and down Roger's bare arm, careful and soothing at once. "You just ought to remember that this is an indication that they work, and will give you the desired results. It's only a matter of time now, you'll see."

If that was supposed to make him feel better, than his churning stomach certainly wasn't agreeing with the method. 

"You know I really shouldn't be saying this, but the period cramps are nowhere near as bad as actual pregnancy," Freddie continues as they walk down the road, into the heart of the facility portion of the city. "They don't tell you much until you actually get there, for good reason I suppose. It could discourage people."

He tries not to be rude, staring at Freddie's overgrown belly where his shirt stretches uncomfortably over his bump, but like whiffing at his attracting scent, Roger cannot help this either. 

"I imagine so," Roger mumbles.

"You shouldn't worry about it much, dear. Every day is different, every day is hard. But every day is one day closer to meeting my daughter."

The true, heartfelt smile on Freddie's glowing sun-kissed face makes Roger feel all the more miserable, but for Freddie he smiles back. 

They make it to the shop in no time. Roger makes sure to remember the route so that tomorrow he can walk over by himself and spare Freddie the track to the station. 

Freddie's shop itself does not stand out much from the others surrounding it. It's part of a block of other shops all attached to each other. The building is simple two-stories high and made of grey concrete. Only the sign and empty display window distinguish it from the other shops. 

"Come on in, dear," Freddie ushers him inside after unlocking the door with his chip. 

Roger barely has time to take a look around before he is put into a chair. "Sit down please, we won't be doing much today anyway. It's been nice and quiet the past few days. We usually get a new shipment of clothes every week, but there's been a bit of a dry spell. All we got is some clothes to tailor and packages to prepare, easy quick jobs."

Inside, Freddie's scent is almost overwhelming. The sweet sensational smell has found itself in every corner of the small store and seeped into all the fabric and furniture. 

At first glance, the store seems somewhat unorganized and small, but Roger suspects that there is a system in place he has yet to learn. 

The walls are lined with shelves that reach all the way to the ceiling. Each shelf is filled with labelled boxes that Roger can't read from a distance. The display window has three dressed-up mannequins. One dressed in white, dark blue and black, the uniform colours of Nagar. There is a register in the back propped on a wooden desk, as well as a staircase that leads to the second floor with an 'employees only' sign. 

Freddie shoves a doorstop under the front door to keep it open and turns over the sign that had previously said 'closed'. 

Once he's finished with that, he smooths both hands down his shirt and over his rounded belly. 

It's fascinating, as well as a little freakish. The bump seems to outgrow what is comfortable for Freddie's petite frame. And the strain is visible in Freddie's posture and red, sweaty face. 

He feels Roger's eyes on him and once he's regained his breath from their walk, allows for another smile directly at him. "How about some water? Quite hot today."

"I could go get it," Roger offers, feeling silly being the one sitting while Freddie is pregnant and tired. "Really, I think it's only fair. I work for you now anyway."

"Don't be silly, it's your first day, I'll make you start doing things starting tomorrow," Freddie winks and goes behind the register desk where he apparently stores a bottle of water and returns with two glasses of water.

Roger offers a hand with the water and then again with supporting Freddie lowering into the empty chair beside him, he is clumsy and thrown off balance by the weight added to his front, Roger can't help pity him. Even when he himself is being plagued with dizzy spells and cramps. 

Freddie settles down with a finale grunt and a huff. He finishes his water in two desperate gulps. The heat must be ten times worse for him. 

The water does miracles to cool Roger down and slides down his throat easily. He means to thank Freddie, for everything. It is only the second time they meet, but Roger feels happy to be kept busy and in good company.

He means to thank Freddie, but instead curiosity and his hormones mix everything up in his head and he blurts out one of the hundred questions he has for the older Omega.

"How long have you been here?" He clears his throat, awkwardly. "I mean, I was just wondering, is all."

Freddie seems anything but offended by the question. He sends Roger a smile and perches his glass against his chest and firm belly while he answers. "I have been here since the start, even before John. I wanted this for a long time, you know." _This_ , meaning the baby.

Roger nods. Although he doesn't _know_.

Having children was never on the program for him while he slaved away in the fields in Ukraine until his palms were bleeding and the roof of his mouth was cork dry. There was no hope and there was nothing for himself, let alone for a baby. 

"I was in the more experimental phase of the reproduction program, which was unpleasant at times. But they got it sorted. I got what I stayed for."

"That sounds... Awful," He comments. 

Freddie offers a more timid smile this time, "It wasn't _awful_ , I did meet my lovely husband. Jim. He works in agriculture. I'd do it all again, if I meet him in the end. If I get to have him."

"What sorts of things went wrong, if I may ask?" Roger asks without trying to sound too curious or too concerned. 

Never has Freddie appeared closed off, not until now. He lowers his eyes down to his belly and presses down on the stretchy skin more firmly. "You may ask, but I'm afraid that some things are best not to recall. The science has come a long way since, as it took a while for it to work on me and the other trial runners. It was worth it in the end, we payed the price for what we wanted and it was _worth it_ ," Freddie breathes a little shakily and his eyes had grown distant. It takes him a thoughtful moment before he returns to Roger with a charming smile. "They hardly make mistakes now, there is no need for you to worry."

He blames it on the many years of hiding behind his mask, but Roger is rarely aware of the way his face reacts to people, he only knows that he is being transparent when people, Crystal, Brian, John, give him the cautious yet softened look Freddie is giving him now. 

The pregnant man leans over for as much as his belly allows it and grasps for Roger's hand, he holds it tight. 

"You can speak freely here."

 _Free to speak_.

Roger opens his mouth and then means to close it, to pull back and realize this is a bad idea. 

He could blame it on the hormones, on the lack of sleep he's been having because of his stomach pain or because everything was just too overwhelming at once. 

But if he were truly hones, he's been itching to tell someone about his troubles for weeks now and this is the first person who could not directly cut him out of the reproduction program and out of Nagar on the next train. 

Roger clutches Freddie's hand back while he speaks his heart racing truth while staring into the abyss of Freddie's deep chocolate eyes. 

"I came here, because I didn't want to sleep in the cold communal tents amongst hundreds of strangers anymore. People here don't understand. I worked sixteen hours a day and often had nothing to eat by the end of it. I sold out my uterus to live a more comfortable life," His face runs hot at the admission. His skin is set ablaze. "I have no goals. No desire for anything , especially not to have children. I just did what I had to and agreed to what I had to, to get a warm bed, regular meals, a hot shower every day. I assumed that was fine. But there are doctors and therapists and- _John_ ," He utters the name with his eyes squeezed shut, "Who are monitoring me and my behaviour every second of the day. And I am scared to bits that I can lose all of this at any second. It might be fucking selfish, but I don't want to be kicked out."

He has stunned Freddie silent with the flood of words that he just dumped between them.

It takes a moment for Freddie to find convey the right words as their hands remain adjoined. Finally, after a deep breath that comes from the core of his chest the pregnant man says, "They won't kick you out for not having- honourable intentions."

Roger doesn't believe him, not with the way he cherry-picked every word he spoke. "You think so?"

"If you hold to your end of the deal and they keep up their end, provide you with the life that you deserve while you help repopulate the world, I truly don't see why there would be a problem. Who told you that there would be a problem?"

"Because I lied," Roger exclaims miserably, only half minding the opened door of the shop, "I told them I wanted a child and I lied, I never thought of having one before Nagar. Never." This he does blame on the pesky hormones. He drops his face into his arms to hide from Freddie's tentative eyes. He continues to speak miserably, although now muffled by skin. "One of them is bound to notice I'm not fit for parenthood. That I cannot do the whole parenthood thing, because the truth is that I never wanted it." 

Freddie squeezes his hand, prodding for more. "And?"

"And?" Roger scoffs, but more at himself than Freddie, " _John_ wants it. He told me from the start that he wanted a family. During the selection." 

"Then why did you pick him?" Freddie asks. 

Roger doesn't have a good answer to that. John was handsome and much kinder than the rest of the lot he had met that day, he hadn't seemed overly sexually frustrated or dominating. Something about John was gravitating Roger towards him, the way nobody else had before in his life. That had been enough to settle on him, to marry him.

But there had been more reasons. He liked the way John answered questions, the way John laughed and believed in Omega equality. He had even liked the fact that John wanted a family, even though that was the last thing on Roger's mind.

"Maybe," He says after the silence has stretched on for too long, but Freddie hadn't withdrawn his hand yet or prodded Roger to continue, "perhaps, because the baby then would have at least one parent who didn't use them as a ticket to safe haven."

He doesn't think he's being silly, this has been the biggest of his worries for the past month and more since getting married. His lies were to catch up on him and were to have consequences when John finds out. 

He doesn't think that's silly at all, he had just poured his heart out along with all his sorrows. But when Freddie reaches out to cup Roger's face and forces it away from his folded hands, he is still smiling. 

Roger doesn't recall anything he had told being amusing. He likes Freddie but doesn't understand why his eyes are soft and twinkling. 

"What?" he asks plainly, causing Freddie's smile to grow. 

"Oh dear, how long have you been walking around with that cloud hanging over you?" 

It's a rhetoric question, still, Freddie pauses and Roger shrugs. The older Omega sighs, and brushes his thumb over the knuckles of Roger's hand. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. I don't know what you have been telling yourself, but you're already concerned about your baby's wellbeing by assuring your Alpha is a good man. It isn't even conceived yet and here you are! Would you look at that." Freddie's smile manages to brighten even when Roger frowns.

"I never... I didn't think of it that way," He admits, "but that doesn't mean I want it. Doesn't mean I didn't lie."

Freddie's expression is unreadable. There are realms of emotions layered beyond his kind laugh and Roger can only decipher the surface of it. All he knows that Freddie reacted rather mildly to his confession, almost more sorry of his suffering than upset about his lies. 

"You will make a fine parent one day Roger, I have a nose for these things," Freddie settles back into his chair, taking their intertwined fingers with him, "And God! Talk to your therapist. This is the sort of stuff they beg you to talk about and they won't kick you out for it either, I promise that."

Roger watches with wide eyes as Freddie puts their hands to rest on the top of his pushed out belly. Without further warning, Freddie lets go completely to press his hand more firmly on the stretched skin. 

"Freddie... I don't feel-"

"Just wait a second, dear."

It takes less than one moment, Roger holds his breath while he waits, but then he feels an insistent prod against his palm coming from inside of Freddie. 

The pregnant man makes no sound of surprise or worry, Roger watches his face like a hawk to make sure this is normal. That the kicks are always this persistently strong. 

Certainly, nobody could survive that for months on end? 

Morbidly fascinated by the sudden but inviting touch, Roger spreads his fingers further out and uses up and down strokes on the surprisingly firm skin of Freddie's belly to chase the baby's movement as soon as it disappears. 

Warmth had spread from his tingling fingers all the way to the tips of his ears where he had felt the baby kick. 

It takes for Freddie to guide him downwards, a little around the bellybutton area, before he feels it again. The response of another being evidently living inside of Freddie.

In that moment, he doesn't think about the way that it is feeding off of Freddie, his nutrition, his blood and warmth like a parasite. He doesn't even think about the fact that this is causing Freddie a prolonged amount of discomfort, unending and unyielding until the nine months are up. 

In that moment, Roger feels nothing but childlike wonder at the soft touches pressed back at him through the tender barrier of Freddie's belly. 

The wonderful, curious moment sets of a strong unidentifiable emotion inside of him. It scares him a little, although he doesn't understand why. 

For some reason he feels like he has to whisper when this close to Freddie and his baby, "And John?" He asks.

"John wants a family," Freddie answers simply, holding Roger's eyes with the certainty that he currently lacks. "That is what you're giving him."

-

Roger is already in bed when John comes home that evening. 

John is always busy, always working, always late and while Roger hears the front door shut with a click followed by cautious footsteps that echo through the flat, he idly wonders if this is going to be his life. 

It takes John very little time to get through his bathroom routine and prepare his lunch for tomorrow. Roger lowers his book when his husband finally walks into their bedroom. 

Before Roger put anything past his lips, his eyes drift downwards to John's bare chest. 

"Oh," Roger openly looks down at his slightly toned toned puffed out chest. John usually wears a nightshirt to bed and some briefs. Tonight is the first time Roger sees this much of John bare. "Hi." 

The glowing lamp catches John's smile subtly widening when he catches Roger's dwelling eye. 

"Am I distracting you?"

"Not at all," Roger huffs moodily and folds the corner of the page to mark where he left off. After placing the book on the nightstand he rolls onto his side to relieve the pressure off his stomach and face John, who's picking out clothes to wear for tomorrow. "How was work?" 

The muscles around John's shoulder blades flex when he twists his neck to look back at him. 

" _Busy_ , a lot to do- sorry I'm late," he says truthfully, "how was your first day?"

"It was alright, Freddie is very nice, like you said." Roger props himself up on his pillows, lounging leisurely across both their sides of the bed, picking at the loose feathers sticking from the pillow case. "I missed you at dinner. When are you going to reinvent cellphones?"

John grins before turning back to the closet, "We are working on it with the chip. Won't be too long now." 

They remain like that for a few minutes in silence, John lays his clothes out on the armchair before turning off the ceiling lights by the door. Roger watches him move, much more easy than he held himself when they first married. 

He watches him flops down on his back with a tired sigh on top of the sheets. His hair fans around him like a dark halo. 

John's scent has gotten richer over the weeks. Roger can't help but press closer and to look down upon him. 

"Long day?"

"Yes," John runs a hand over his shut eyes. "I wish I could be around more."

"But I understand," Roger presses kindly. 

When John remains closed off, he puts his hand on John's shoulder, warm hand to smooth skin. He kneads his thumb into the muscles there, feeling somewhat bold tonight.

John doesn't tense under the touch although he goes perfectly still. 

When he doesn't pull away, Roger doesn't either. "It's quite an honour, to be married to the most important man in Nagar."

He peaks one eye open and a smirk slowly curls the corners of his mouth upwards. "Is that what you and Freddie have been talking about all day?"

"Yes," Roger chuckles, "amongst other things."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

Roger lets out a surprised sound when John suddenly pushes himself upright. He brushes Roger's hand away and scoots over to the other end of the bed in one sleek movement. Before Roger can ask what is wrong, John opens the bedside drawer and pulls out a small wooden box, holding it close to his chest. 

He returns to the bed and props himself up against the headboard with a neutral closed-off expression. Completely unreadable to Roger, who in his curiosity has scooted up against him. 

"What's that?" He asks, practically resting his chin on John's shoulder to watch him fiddle with the lid. 

John lets out a sober sigh that Roger can feel rumbling through his body. 

The strange look doesn't disappear, but he can make out the shadow of a smile on John's face. 

"I know this was your first day at work and that it was a special day for you, and I wanted to have dinner with you to celebrate," John starts mumbling again, shying away from the intimacy he himself projects. Roger draws his knees to himself, half resting them on top of John's thighs in an effort to come even closer. 

"It was a special day," Roger answers carefully, "but we can have dinner tomorrow. And the day after. We're married after all."

John snorts at that, his shoulders relax a little before he finally gives in and tips the wooden box open.

Roger doesn't have to squint to see the contents, John picks the two golden bands with his fingers and holds them out to Roger in his open palm. The gold glimmers beautifully where it catches the orange nightstand light.

Roger's eyes widen at the priceless gift held out to him. He has never owned jewellery before today.

"I wanted to give you this..." John clears his throat before holding his hand out to Roger, who reacts immediately and eagerly offers his finger out to John. His _ring finger_. He can't stop his grin from spreading across his cheeks when the golden band slides around the digit seamlessly. 

John, although equally relieved, is completely pink when he speaks again. 

"Sorry, I had it all planned out with a special dinner- was even going to sneak you some wine for the occasion. I just thought you'd deserve this." 

"John..." Roger blinks at his ornamented finger in amazement, the cold jewellery will adjust to his body temperature swiftly and the weight sits comfortably around him. When he finally manages to tear his eyes away, he sees that John has put his own on too. He can't help it, he can't stop smiling, joy swells tightly in his chest. "This is incredible, thank you."

"I'm glad it fits," John says, "I had to guess your size, but it's close enough," 

He picks up Roger's hand and holds it delicately between his warm hands. 

Roger watches him examine their rings but all at once he can't give a damn. Before he can stop himself his body is gravitating towards John and then he wouldn't want to stop moving, because his eyes have zeroed in on John's soft pink lips.

Without actually thinking, Roger presses himself as close to John as possible and brushes his lips against John's experimentally. 

John freezes completely when he realizes what Roger is doing. 

Roger stubbornly keeps his lips pushed against his, waiting until John catches on with the program, which he does. Eventually, when he realizes Roger is not miscalculating or pulling back, he allows himself to sink back into the pillows behind him and tilt his chin up. This allows for Roger to nibble John's bottom lip between his own. 

He's clumsy and feeling utterly young. 

He's never kissed anyone before. 

He doesn't know what to do with his hands or how to move his head, his neck, he wonders what is too much and if it feels as good to John as it does to him. The soft sparkles of pleasure and touch that radiates energy through to the rest of his body. 

Roger doesn't have to do this alone, though.

John catches onto Roger's uncertainty and without pulling away he takes Roger's hands in his and guides them to his shoulders, around his neck where Roger can hold onto him. He slides his own hands down Roger's arms, to his sides until he can rest them comfortably on his hips. 

Roger bites back a whine when John pulls away, not far, he presses his forehead against his trying to keep the sizzling skin to skin contact.

"John-"

"Is this alright?" He asks, "Are you sure this is alright?" 

"John!" Roger huffs out a bewildered laugh, his fingers curl around John's neck and pull him closer, stealing a quick dizzying peck, "Yes! God, yes I'm-"

He chuckles again, completely lightheaded after the first kiss he's _ever_ shared. 

John's own lips are curled upwards in a boyish genuine smile. His hand is a firm and grounding presence, a reminder that they are both in desperation. "Yes then?"

"Yes," Roger brushes his lips against John's again, and again and again until their tongues meet and they're lazily tonguing. 

John laps into Roger's mouth like he's starving. 

Every flick of his tongue sends sparks of pleasure down Roger's groin and he can't help it when he arches forward to rock his cock against John's.

He's much more versed in all of this, Roger can tell because he doesn't hesitate in the way he circles his tongue around Roger's or takes a well practiced nibble from his bottom lip. 

"You're good," Roger pulls away only to gasp for air. Feeling hot all over.

He moans when John trails kisses down his jaw, to the sensitive vein pulsing under the fine skin of his neck. He focused there on the patch that makes Roger's body sing. 

" _John_!" Roger gasps again, this time slightly surprised at his own inability to reign his arousal. "Oh God." 

John's teeth nibble at the spot between his neck and shoulder, his hand clamps around Roger's hip tightly. Making sure he's still when his other hand slips down, between their bodies.

"Rog, Roger look at me." 

Roger blinks his eyes open to take John in. His cheeks and lips are softly pink, heated with arousal. His eyes are nearly black with how wide his pupils are blown

"I'm looking," He whispers while he plays with the fine hairs ar the nape of John's neck. "Is that what you're into?" 

"Maybe," John growls and playfully bites Roger's shoulder, it's nowhere near aggressive but it still makes Roger tingle. "Still good?" 

"Are you going to touch me?" He asks, in a tone he doesn't recognize himself in. 

It boarders on uncertain, but mostly in wonder and curiosity. He's old enough to know what sex is and what pleasuring oneself feels like, but living in communal tents for fifteen years Roger hasn't had many opportunities to get off himself. If he wasn't too hungry or exhausted in the first place, jerking off in front of strangers wasn't something he'd felt comfortable doing, although it wasn't uncommon. 

John grew up in different places. John got to sleep in his own bedroom and use a working shower whenever he wanted.

He's touched himself. And he's surely touched others while Roger hasn't.

"Do you want me to touch you?"

"Yes," Roger keeps one hand wrapped around John but the other snakes between their bodies and presses John's palm directly onto his hard on, instantly causing Roger to shiver. "Yes."

"Alright," John muses in a gentle tone. 

He ducks down again, finding a patch of skin on Roger's neck that he hadn't already marked with his tongue yet. And when he has, he starts nosing along Roger's scent glands right behind his ear. Even the slightest brush makes Roger rock into John's hand. 

Roger's eyes have drifted shut some time ago, although watching the handsome Alpha devour him with an animalistic hunger in his eyes was a sight pleasantly burned into Roger's memory now. 

Despite his instincts, John remains slow and painfully aware of Roger's unspoken inexperience. 

"How's this?" John asks, teasing Roger's cock with slight squeezes up and down his length through the fabric of his underwear. 

Roger can hardly breathe the pleasure is so intense, yet he wants more. 

"It's good," and he too leans forward to breathe in the smell of John behind the soft layer of body wash and then sweat. The scent that lingers heavily on his skin and sends Roger's own instincts through the roof, although that might also be his period. 

Roger still has his hand on John's which he lets go of now to instead firmly put on John's hard cock.

It is significantly bigger than Roger's, as most Alpha's are. In hardness it strains against the waistband of his underwear and Roger thoughtfully peels the underwear down to free John's cock from its restraints.

It bops up proudly against John's stomach, drooling eagerly with precum. 

Roger has never seen another mans cock this way, completely erect and for him. The sight makes his mouth water. 

He's uncertain, rationally speaking. Therefore he lets his instincts take the lead on this and he starts massaging his palm up and down John's erection. Pumping more blood to the aching head. 

"You're good," He tells John again when he notices John had stopped toying with his cock to stare at Roger dizzily. "But I want you to touch me like this."

John groans. 

Roger squeezes gently before briefly letting go to spit generously into his palm and continue to stroke up and down John's sweet cock. Their faces are so close that they're breathing the same recycled dampened air between them. Roger wants to plead with John, his period has made him horny. His life has made it impossible to be sexually active until today, until now and if you John doesn't understand how fucking desperate that makes him then-

"I got you."

John emphasizes the words with a hard kiss on the mouth that distracts Roger from seeing John reach for his underwear and pull it down. 

Roger gasps into the kiss as his cock springs free into the cold air. "John," 

"Hmmm," he hums back. 

Warm fingers curl around his flesh and Roger has to use all of his willpower not to spontaneously let go of John's dick to selfishly ride this out how he wants it. He can't help thrusting his hips forward though, rocking his cock into John's hand. Begging without words. 

He fucks his tongue into John's mouth faster too, matching the rhythm he's jerking John off with. 

It's as if nothing else in the world still matters. 

Their scents mingled together with arousal are enough to cause wetness between Roger's trembling thighs. 

He mewls against John's lips, legs clasping around John's thigh.

He doesn't expect to be rolled over, but then suddenly John has him pushed onto the pillows on his back. Somehow it is better. John gets rid of his own underwear and then brackets Roger's thighs, spreading his legs only so far apart as his underwear allows.

They can be much closer it seems in this position. John is blanketed on top of him, covering every inch of him. 

They're still working each other's cocks. Roger takes cues from John. He rolls his thumb over the slit just so, spreading the first beats of cum around. He rubs his fingers over the pulsing vein at the underside. And lets his hips roll forward leisurely.

What makes him nearly cum is the breathy, helpless sounds John is making. He's needy and vocal, moaning directly into Roger's ear and allowing his lips to brush cheekily over his ear-shell, now pink with lust. 

"Roger, I didn't know..." John trails off when Roger bites him softly underneath the jaw. He pumps Roger's cock faster, desperately. "-Didn't know you wanted this."

"Neither did I."

They work together well. Although it is messy and frantic, Roger leaves open-mouthed kisses down John's neck and John nibbles on his earlobe. 

Their senses are heightened, scent and taste become predominant when their sight becomes blurry and all the sound in the room is rustling sheets and breathy moans. 

They move as one entity when they bring each other to orgasm. 

Roger is a little less contained than John, he's moving more desperately, wriggling his hips in inexperience and squeezing John with his knees to keep him there, keep him still and close in ways he cannot put into words. 

John remains a rock for him to clamp onto while they bring each other to the edge. Roger is glad for it when the rare but familiar tingles of white-hot pleasure course from his cock to every single tendril in his body. 

It feels so good, his jaw drops open and a long high pitched sound comes from his throat which he can barely recognize as his own.

The whole time he is still pumping John's cock up and down, fastened by his cum dripping all over Roger's fingers and slickening his hardness. 

He vaguely heard John moaning his name over and over again like a mantra. Pleasure makes it impossible to concentrate, he feels his cum splatter over his stomach and the weight of John increase on his chest. 

"Thank you, thank you," He's mouthing against John's neck, still rolling his hips, "John."

"A-alright," his Alpha is trembling when he pries Roger's hand from his slowly softening cock, Roger blinks heavily, trying to work through his haze of pleasure to check he hadn't messed up. 

He hadn't. John is sitting up between his legs, covered in sweat and their cum across his chest, on his stomach and hand. He's smiling bashfully, complimented by his pink cheeks. 

John swallows thickly. "What just happened?"

Roger's throat is dry too and he finds himself unable to roll away from underneath him, physically and because he doesn't want to. 

He is rooted to the spot as if his bones were made of liquid. When he tries to move, only his arm is responsive and he slaps it across his face, hiding his eyes from John. 

"My limbs are spaghetti," Roger chuckles at himself, chest puffing out with laughter. "What did you do to me?"

"You seemed like a willful participant," John comments wryly. Even without looking Roger knows that he is still smiling

After some rustling, John finds them some tissues to clean up without moving away from his spot between Roger's legs. John cleans Roger's stomach, his hand, the new precious golden ring and most carefully around his cock. 

Once he's finished with him, John turns his attention to himself. Roger lowers his arm just to put his cock back in his underwear.

When he sits upright he braces himself on the headboard, expecting a now familiar stomach cramp, but miraculously none come. 

John is still wiping cum from between his fingers while he's observing Roger move carefully "You alright?"

"Yes," He can honestly say. Then he relaxes back against the pillows, smiling harder, "Crystal is never going to shut up when he hears this."

"He did order us to cuddle."

"Extended cuddle time he called it," Roger huffs, watching John hide a smile when he finally does get up on wobbly legs to throw their tissues into the bin. "I can't believe that this is my life now."

He pushes his legs under the covers before John returns, who gets into bed again after switching off the bedside lamp. 

Roger waits for John to settle in before he rolls over and plasters himself half on-top of him. He can blame it on hormones, or on the fact that he'd had his first orgasm in years, but what he likes about John is that there is no explanation nor excuses expected. 

He puts his head on John's shoulder, his skin is warm and smooth. A second later, he feels strong fingers lazily brushing through his unruly hair. 

John's lips ghost over his forehead when he speaks. "You liked it, right?" 

"I did."

Their closeness and mingled scents clouds sleep over Roger's mind. His eyes have drifted shut and he turns his face deeper into John's arm.

"I liked it, haven't done much before. If you hadn't noticed."

John snorts at his self-deprecating tone. This time his lips purposely brush over his forehead and stick there for a moment. "We'll go slow."

"Thanks," Roger yawns, he curls an arm across John's chest and keeps his hand there where he can feel it rise and fall with every breath John takes. John in return hesitantly rubs his foot up and then down Roger's bare calf. His fingers haven't stopped running through his hair, Roger can feel his ring brush against his scalp and send him to sleep. "T'was very nice." 

"I liked it too, in case you were wondering," John whispers, "I think you're a natural."

"Oh shut up," Roger says, hiding his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovies! Please let me know if you liked it❤️ Have a good sunday and become my mutual on tumblr on @emmandorlando


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is running out for Roger to tell John the truth or keep it hidden forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Happy Sunday please enjoy the chapter and take care

Things are different with John after that night. 

Roger remembers it vividly, every second of it. Laying on his back, completely breathless and relaxed, while he being fondled with almost clumsily. 

He remembers trembling and moaning, embarrassed and so turned on that he could scream or break out into a grin at any second. He thinks about it, John's burning eyes, sculpted chest, his skilled fingers. 

He thinks about it when he gets out of bed, touches himself in this shower with the memories at the forefront of his mind, while he shovels his breakfast into his mouth alone and while he folds the clothes onto the right shelves in Freddie's shop. 

He is doing a piss-poor job at it, evidently, in no time it draws his bosses attention from an order list to focus on him instead. 

"So things have been well with you and John?" Freddie asks, grinning deviously.

Roger can try to lie and embarrass himself by failing, but decides against it all together. The muscle aching smile he'd been holding back finally climbs to victory. "Is it that obvious?" 

Freddie's grin only widens when he holds Roger's gaze for a long moment, as if he could read the thoughts beyond Roger's forehead. Eventually Freddie leaves the order summary altogether and walks (waddles) around the register and up to Roger. 

He nudges him aside to take a couple of the shirts Roger hadn't folded to his satisfaction, he shakes them loose and starts to re-fold them over his belly close enough to Roger to let him observe. He folds the sleeves inwards first and then the body, vertically in quarters. 

"So..." Casual is not exactly Freddie's strong suit. "The talk went well then?" 

"The talk?" Roger asks distractedly when Freddie puts the correctly folded shirt on the shelf. Witu Freddie's technique in mind Roger attempts to fold the next shirt under his watch. 

"Oh you know! Did you two have the _baby talk_?" 

"Oh," Roger had forgotten all about that. "No."

The store is empty, it usually is according to Freddie. Most of their work revolves around compiling clothing packages for new arrivals in Nagar like the one Roger had received on the ship. Each package has certain requirements it must fulfil, while underwear, socks and shoes are provided new by factories, Freddie is in charge of finding fitting clothes from the pre-Eradicated world that respect Nagar's strict black, white and dark blue dress code. 

Roger is glad to help him. Freddie's storage room on the second floor is enormous and proves to be a real challenge to keep up if you're hitting your third trimester and cannot bend down anymore. 

But today he is distracted. So distracted that he doesn't notice Freddie is throwing another poorly folded shirt at his face, until he's suddenly blinded by darkness. 

"Earth to Roger!"

"Sorry," He peels the shirt from his face without feeling all that sorry, Freddie can tell because he still hasn't stopped smiling. "I guess I'm a bit distracted today."

"I'll tell Deacks that if he gets you fucked-out into work again I'll have his head."

"You will do no such thing!" Roger laughs and hastily folds the shirt, almost getting the corners as sharp as Freddie does, and he puts it on the right stack on the right shelf. "I'm a perfect employee."

Freddie rolls his eyes, but Roger is learning rapidly that it's a gesture of fondness. 

"God, you're already insufferable. Here I thought I'd get some help around here," Freddie glances at the clock across the cash register. He's less skilled at keeping track of time than Roger, who's relied on his internal clock for over a decade and a half. He hums thoughtfully, as if he can't see Roger buzzing with excitement, "I suppose your lunch break starts in a minute." 

Roger is determined to finish this pile before he leaves. Freddie pulls the chair behind the register closer to Roger and gracelessly lowers himself without accepting the hand Roger offers. 

"Is the Casanova coming to whisk you away?" Freddie asks, Roger beams in affirmation, retreating to his clothes again, "No quickies in the storage room, okay? Unless I can't tell. And believe me, I can always tell."

"Is this what John was warning me about?" Roger retorts.

"Yes," Freddie smooths his hands down the sides of his enlarged belly, growing obscenely each time he sees him again, but at least he seems happy. Something Roger finds very infectious. "You two obviously did something. Won't you tell me?" 

Roger seals his lips, quite symbolically pushing his lips together and locking them with an invisible key. 

"Fine, keep your secrets," Freddie sticks his nose up as if he doesn't care. When that doesn't provoke Roger to give a little more information, he huffs through his nose and changes tactics. "Alright. Without any details, how good is he on a scale from one to ten?"

Roger can hardly resist. He finishes folding the shirt and throws it over his shoulder just so he can hold up ten fingers to Freddie, before turning his back on him bursting into a fit of chuckles to put the shirt on the shelf. 

-

John calls to him from across the grass clearing to get Roger's attention. 

There is nobody else around here, Roger had spotted him through the trees minutes ago, but that doesn't stop a smile from breaking out onto his face when he approaches his husband. Before they fall into an easy embrace their lips lock together in a brief kiss. 

It won't be too long before he will get used to the affection, the same way humans adapt to everything. But until then, Roger will dabble in the foreign, utterly delightful, sensation of lip to lip touch. 

John smooths his hands down Roger's shoulder when they pull away, his eyes are sparkling. "Thought you were going to be late."

"Freddie was very busy teasing me," Roger's voice rings with laughter as he says it, "Someone touches your dick once and suddenly the whole world can see it written all over your face."

"Freddie is hardly the whole world. He does have a particular talent for this sort of thing."

"That's exactly what he said," Roger snorts and allows John to wrap an arm loosely around his waist and lead him further from the thick line of trees that borders the inner city world from the steel cold reality.

The two of them spend their lunch dates not so much eating but taking strolls along the electrical fence to wind down from baby talk, in Roger's case and nitty-gritty logistics in John's. 

The fence stretches up into the clouds, an enormous impressive structure that never fails to draw Roger's eyes upwards. John doesn't usually initiate conversation, in general, it is Roger who sets the tone of their talks unless John has a pressing matter to discuss, which is why they walk in silence for a blissful moment, accompanied by the humming of the fence and fearless birds who dare come beyond the safe line of trees. 

John keeps Roger from stumbling over his own feet when he's been staring upwards for too long and he offers a softened smile when their eyes meet again. 

"You've been here for a long time, did you see it get build?"

"The fence you mean?" Roger nods, John starts to nod along, "When I came it wasn't a third the size it is now. When they brought in some engineers most of it was completely reconstructed to support the added weight and high voltage. We're far into the interior of the continent so there shouldn't be people trying to get in, but you never know. Wouldn't want a disease outbreak when the new generation is born, not until there's a cure." 

Roger forces himself not to show too much delight at gaining snippets of information on Nagar, in case it makes him look suspicious. 

Either way, it is no news that he has a curious nature. 

"So you know what continent we are on?" 

"I know the continent," John says casually, "but not what exact country this region once was." 

Roger doesn't care to bite his tongue, this is his husband and he has the answers Roger desperately wants to know. 

They're still walking along the fence and there's nobody else around to hear them speak. John's eyes dart back and forth to check if the coast is clear. Roger opens his mouth to tell him as much but is silenced by John, who cups his hand over Roger's lips and the other wraps tightly around his wrist to the point where it hurts, covering the implant completely with his palm and pushing it directly to Roger's bone.

There is no one else around and they have stopped walking in the middle of the dirt road along the fence. Roger is staring at John wide-eyed, trying not to cry out in pain, although not alarmed in the way he perhaps ought to be. They are completely alone out here, not even Freddie knows where they take their walks. When he catches John covering his own wrist from the corner of his eye, Roger knows that he isn't the one in charge here. That he knows very little compared to his husband. 

John shuffles closer to Roger to whisper directly into his ear, "They can hear us through it."

"The chip?" Roger asks, instinctively adapting John's quiet tone. 

The Alpha nods firmly, just one jerking movement accompanied by a void of anger in his eyes.

Abruptly, albeit too late, Roger understands why John is pressing so hard on the implant, pushing it painfully against Roger's brittle bone. 

The ache is strong enough to cause tears to well up in the corners of his eyes, yet he has to ask, "Africa or Asia?"

"Asia," John whispers. 

_Asia_ , that certainly narrows it down. 

Roger wrestles his hand out of John's grip a tad too harshly and cradles his wrist to his chest to examine the damage. The area is already tender and slowly reddening, soon to become a purple bruise around his delicate wrist. 

He hears John inhale sharply when he sees it too. 

His eyes bulge out of his head. Suddenly he looks much younger, shaken to the core. He opens his mouth and gapes, fumbling for an apology without having to give themselves away to whoever might be listening. 

John's arms fall limp by his sides. His eyes wide and wild, "I'm sorry, I wasn't -"

"That's alright," Roger cuts in and clears his throat so he can stop whispering. Despite the throbbing pain he forces the corners of his lips to raise up to reassure John with a smile. "It's alright..." _I wanted to know_ , "Thank you."

John is still uncertain and his expression is frozen in guilt riddance. 

Roger digs his shoes in the muddy trail and brings his lips up to meet his husbands in a chaste and clumsy kiss. 

John instantly relaxes into the kiss. Roger follows suit. 

The tender touch nearly makes Roger forget about the ache in his wrist that extends to his fingers and arm in hot waves of pain. John's sorry face doesn't completely disappear, not even when they pull away and start walking once again. But he wraps his arm around Roger's waist again, stares down at Roger meaningfully. _I'm sorry_ , his eyes say. Roger makes sure to lean a little heavier onto John than he had before. _It's alright_ , he projects back. 

They walk in the company of the looming fence, humming at them as they whisper their secrets to each other. John idly runs his hand up and down Roger's hip, circling the still jutting bone with his thumb. Roger leans into the caress even when the question of the continent has set off a series of new questions to keep his mind occupied.

"The cleanup must have been... A lot of work," He says after they have walked a little further along the trail. 

John sighs, once, but doesn't bite back a response in the way he might have if Roger wasn't Roger. He works on himself not to shut down and when he speaks, Roger feels his chest swell with an emotion he cannot name. 

"Most of the cultural evidence was already demolished when my family came to Nagar, but there were parts of the colony that still had to be cleaned." John doesn't relax for a little while yet, which is fine with Roger, the topic isn't an easy one. "There's a mass grave some kilometres from the gated area, that's where they put all the bodies. Day in and day out, trucks pilled with corpses rode through the gates. Every single house had to be cleared, every family member of every street... It certainly smelled dreadful until they got to the cleaning portion."

Roger silently finds the hand John had wrapped around his waist and lace their fingers together on his hip, knowing John would want to fiddle with it to distract himself. 

"Go on."

"Thanks," John stubbornly looks straight ahead, fingers restless in Roger's clasp, "Bodies can also transmit the disease."

"Very much so, yes," Roger remembers from his many years battling the disease with zero resources in Donetsk. "With all the fluids and odours that come from them."

"My entire family died shortly after coming to Nagar by contamination from the corpses. My mother, she played a crucial role in the administrative system of the colony while my father worked to make the poorly existing electric network in a designed way that nobody could infiltrate from the outside. We'd been here for three months, maybe four? My sister was the first to show symptoms and the first to die too." 

Roger's hand clutches at John's and keeps his mouth firmly shut. John still isn't looking at him. 

"They couldn't spare everyone the protective gear that they gave the scientists, you see," He swallows thickly past the lump in his throat. "My dad was given some, he was deemed important to the settlement, as vital to the cause as the scientists and doctors and engineers. As soon as Julie was diagnosed, dad gave me his gear, but it was already too late."

"John..." Roger sighs, gnawing gingerly on his bottom lip when he doesn't know what else to say. They have all gone through the same, yet words fail him. "That's awful."

"Nagar used to have these makeshift emergency buildings set up right outside the fence for those who'd gotten ill. We were all transferred there, protective gear taken away and our belongings left behind in the hurry we had to leave, in case we'd infect others. We were given beds beside each other and there were nurses who'd bring us food, water, vitamins to keep our strength up. I know that we had it better than most in this world, but it didn't matter in the end, all the stories end the same." John smiles but it is a hollow self-deprecating twitch of the lips. "Julie died first, then my mum the following day. Dad lasted for another week, but I can't remember our last moments together. I was ailing with fever, completely delusional. I can't even remember how many days I stayed there and started to get better before I realized that they were all gone. To the same mass grave like everyone else."

"I'm sorry John," Roger repeats, "you must have been so young."

"Twelve."

"Twelve..." Roger blinks heavily to keep his emotions at bay, although his face has gone numb with it. "I lost my little sister first too. She died when the food ran out."

They have nearly stopped walking by now, moving their leg muscles so utterly slow to spare themselves from having to return back to the inner city and part ways, while pretending everything is okay, just for another moment together in shared memories of terror. 

"And your parents?" John asks, dragging his thumb across the edge of Roger's ring. 

"My father left long before the Eradication. Mum got the disease and couldn't recover," He forces himself not to sniffle, thinking about them is still difficult. "She looked nothing like herself when she died. I don't even recognize her in my nightmares, she was a shell and she was in pain... I just look at her picture from before to imagine what she should have looked like."

"God, look at us," John is blinking upwards rapidly to get rid of the wetness in his eyes too, breaking the moment, but at the perfect time, "Missing our mums."

"Every day," Roger says. And sighs when John stops pretending to walk and turns on his heel to give Roger a long and proper hug. 

He buries his nose in the Alphas neck, breathing in his scent to calm himself.

John does the same by nosing along Roger's ear and running his hands down Roger's sides almost desperately, testing the reality of the tissue, of the shifting muscles and breathing pores. John remains there, close and unyielding. He rests his forehead against his. 

"I'm sorry." 

Roger nods jerkily, giving John a tight squeeze even when it hurts his still tender wrist, "I am too."

It isn't exactly normal for them to break out into tears during their conversational lunch breaks, Roger takes comfort in the trust building between them. 

Crystal won't be happy that they haven't been doing the mandatory couples' exercises, but Roger is starting to believe that they won't be needing it at all to find each other's truth and mutual ground in their relationship. 

All they need now is some time. 

"Freddie is going to kill me if he believes I've made you cry," John murmurs before they can pull away.

Roger knows he won't be able to get rid of his red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks before they have to both return to their jobs, therefore there is no use in worrying over it. "I'll just have him believe they're happy tears."

"I don't know which one of those has the worse consequences."

-

"I have good news," Brian says in an alarmingly neutral, calculated tone for someone with supposed good news. "With your restarted menstruation cycle and increased hormone levels, the board has agreed to clear you for the surgery."

Roger stares blankly at the doctor and fails at keeping all of the terror out of his voice. 

"Okay."

Brian puts his elbows on his desk and taps his fingers together nervously, "I know that you don't want to have-"

"Okay. I said it was _okay_ ," Roger is forced to swallow past the thickening lump in his throat. "It's fine."

So Brian continues, trying and failing to sound procedural. "You have been adjusting remarkably in Nagar, you even like the first job we trial you for, which is quite rare. You and John seem to get along well and your health is perfect."

"I know." _No need to rub it in_. "You can't stall it any longer, I get it."

Brian's shoulders deflate when he sighs. He scoots back into his much more comfortable chair than Roger's opposite of him.

He reaches for his tablet device and starts typing around. Upside down and in too small lettering for Roger to make out anything the doctor is writing. 

"I will send Freddie an official notice about your surgery appointment as soon as the day is set so that he knows when he won't be having you around to help for a couple of weeks while you recover," Brian scribbles the information down as he speaks, once everything in Roger's file and contacts is up to date, he lowers the tablet and directs his gaze at Roger. "It is extremely important that you take it easy prior to the surgery. It can and will take a physical toll on you. I will let Freddie know this as well."

"Right."

"We have talked about this before but I shall repeat that it is a minor procedure to get rid of the blockage in your fallopian tubes caused by the disease when you were young. You won't feel a thing, you'll be completely under general anesthesia, so no cause for alarm." 

Roger folds his hands stiffly over his stomach. He's not on his period, yet it hurts and he feels sick. "Alright, thanks."

Brian still isn't finished and smiles apologetically at the fact. "And Crystal will also be informed for your next session, in case you need some support in preparation for the big day."

" _Right_ ," Roger narrows his eyes. 

\- 

Essentially, Crystal is the final obstacle between Roger and the surgery. 

The surgery is an expensive procedure in terms of resources used, even for Nagar. Brian had said so himself, Roger won't be allowed to just leave after it. 

He will be an investment.

One thing he knows is that people don't get rid of expensive investments. 

There's only one session left between now and his upcoming fertility surgery. He enters Crystal's office without a plan, only with a goal. 

Then the words come blurting out before Roger as much as closes the door behind himself. And he realizes instantly that he should come come up with a plan.

"I have to tell you something."

Crystal is standing behind his desk, unfazed by the outburst. "Brian told me your surgery is on the horizon."

"That's not all," Roger says before he can stop himself. He remembers Freddie's words, Freddie's insistence that he'd tell Crystal. Crystal wouldn't kick him out for this, he promised. Crystal would help. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to have a baby."

Crystal opens his mouth to interject, but Roger interjects his interjection faster. 

"No. False," He shakes his head staring at the tiled floor, "I'm _not_ ready to have a baby."

To his credit, Crystal lets the silence only stretch for a short moment before he clears his throat and gestures to one of the two couches, "Have a seat Roger, we'll talk about this."

His heart is racing, even though Crystal's voice remains perfectly neutral. 

Roger finds his way to his usual spot without bothering to hide how nervous he is. He watches Crystal sort through some papers on his desk, put them into neat piles and pick out a couple of folders from the shelf. He rounds the desk to take a seat opposite Roger, both his tablet and the folders under his arm like a knight would carry a weapon. 

He sinks into the cushions and sighs in tune with the languid movement. 

Roger tries to copy his casual body language but fails profoundly. His heart is still beating against his rib cage too fast and his foot won't stop jittering. He is tense all over, causing is neck to stiffen and his spine to ache. 

"Well?" Roger asks when impatience causes more involuntary thoughts to transfer into quick words. "Say something." 

Crystal crosses his leg over his knee and drags his tablet into his lap. Making no notes. 

"How long have you been walking around with this?"

"Since the beginning..." Roger lets his eyes drift to the wall right beside Crystal's face, where he wishes there was a window to stare out of. Perhaps it was a conscious choice. There's nothing else to distract him with other than fiddling with the edge of his white shirt. "They asked me if I wanted a kid, I lied."

"Who asked?" 

"Doctor Randell? Darnell... Something? The one who examined me in the makeshift clinic near Donetsk."

Crystal hums, fingers drumming on the edges of the tablet, like he wishes to take notes, but Roger is grateful that he doesn't. "Explain to me what happened?"

"He asked if I ever thought of wanting children, I gave the answer I knew he wanted to hear."

"The question was not if you wanted the children, the question should have been if you were willing to have children for Nagar," Crystal fills in, echoing essentially what Freddie had said. 

Roger wishes that was all. He still can't relax and Crystal can tell, eyebrows raised in slight alarm.

"You volunteered for the program, right?" He asks, "You came here alone... Nobody made you sign up?"

Roger shakes his head firmly to put the stiffened therapist at ease. 

Crystal exhales in relief. "Thank God."

"I told John... I said I'd give him a family," He could roll his eyes at how stupidly young he sounds as he says it. He doesn't even want to know what reaction Crystal is holding back from his blank face. Roger crosses his arms and slumps in the couch. "You wouldn't understand."

"Alright before you write me off, I'm understanding that you have John believe you have the same desire for children as he does, although you don't?"

That's _exactly_ it. Roger fiddles some more with his shirt. "Yes... I never thought about children before. People don't seem to get that. Children dropped like flies where I grew up and no babies were born. I didn't go through normal puberty or grow up amongst people my age. I worked in the fields during every spare hour I had and slept for the others. Children don't fit in that equation. I just never thought of them, why should I? There was no hope." 

Crystal gives a one-shouldered shrug, "That sounds like a perfectly reasonable thing to tell John." 

_Stop making sense_. "I don't know," Roger says, still unsure. "It would break John's heart, I think. Knowing that I don't want it like he does."

"Couples have had this problem since the dawn of time, I assure you the apocalypse will only complicate things. Do you talk to him about your life before Nagar?"

"Sometimes."

The corners of Crystal's lips turn upwards at the admission. However much Roger had tried to keep certain aspects of his and John's developing relationship private, Crystal must be sensing that things are going well, which isn't something Roger should try to hide anyway. 

"You know John better than I do. Won't he have sympathy for your situation?" _Yes_. "Out of every Alpha lined up to marry you, did you not pick him to have a child with- knowing full well that you were going to have a child together?" _Also yes._

Crystal sighs and shakes his head in a short, but fond manner. He chuckles when he sees the expression on Roger's face. Roger consciously forces himself to stop brooding then, if only to stop amusing Crystal. 

"Believe it or not, you have been the easiest couple to manage for me, so far. Would you agree that you two are a particularly good match?"

"Yes," Roger blurts out. No question in that. 

Crystal's lips quirk upwards in agreement. "You've made him wait in the hallway so we could talk this out privately, which is fine. How about we just call him in and ask what he thinks about all of this now?"

"No," Roger glances at the still closed door as if it magically would have swung open after the question. He looks back at Crystal. "Don't tell him."

"I won't tell him anything that you don't want me to-"

"Good," Roger interjects sharply, thinking about all the kisses they have shared, all the nights they have been spending in each other's arms, all the shared secrets and common stories. He isn't ready to lose it now, not even to some degree. "Don't tell him."

The therapist doesn't seem particularly happy about it, but at least he shuts up about the subject. 

Instead, he lights up his tablet and changes course. "How about we call John in to talk about the surgery and the aftercare instead?"

"Fine," Roger says, although the surgery causes knots to form in his stomach for completely different reasons. 

-

"What are you doing?" Roger tries to bite back a smile when John presses his closed palm a little tighter over his eyes, blocking out even the tiniest stips of light that had flooded through his fingers. "John, I'm gonna fall."

But he won't. He knows he won't because John's front is firmly pressed to his back, guiding Roger by his waist into their flat, while the other hand covers his eyes. 

He hears the now familiar creaking of the front door and recognizes the light tap on his ankle as a warning from John to lift his foot over the doorstep. 

"Just keep going straight ahead, I'll make sure you won't bump into anything."

He shuts the front door, signalled by another creak and together they shuffle into their flat.

"If you did something grande I will kick you in the balls," Roger threatens in the least intimidating voice possible. He thinks John can't see him smile, but then two warm lips brush over the make of his neck, and he knows he'll flush pink at the touch and give everything away. "It's not our anniversary or anything, right?" He asks, trying not to gasp at the fluttering feeling John ejects out of him.

"No anniversary, nothing big, I swear." 

"Good, because if you keep doing things for me, I will have to start doing things for you."

"That's not why I do things for you," John murmurs, his voice so close to Roger's ear it makes him shiver. The Alpha guides him further into the house, spinning and rotating him in quarters until he's lightheaded and unsure where they have ended up when John brings them to a stop. 

He tries to blink, eyelashes fluttering against John's hand until the Alpha snorts. "You're impatient."

"Curious," Roger corrects easily. God his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. He knows full well that this is another kind attempt to distract him from the surgery that's dawning upon him. John has a particular talent to keep Roger's mind off the future. 

Roger flays his arms forward, grasping at air. John had put him in the middle of the room somewhere. "What is it?"

"Don't get too excited, I got this after our talk a few days ago."

"What talk?" Roger asks when he feels John step away and lower his hand. He blinks rapidly to adjust to the light as he tries to find John, "What talk?"

Instead of his eyes finding his husband, they fall on the wooden hearth decorated by his family pictures, now framed in simple wooden frames behind thin glass, standing proud and equal amongst John's family as if they were one. 

He doesn't know what to say at first. He doesn't even know if he still has a voice at all. 

He steps closer to examine the pictures that he had held onto for over fifteen years in the worn browning envelope, now displayed proudly on the electric hearth. 

John had put Clare and Julie beside each other, emphasizing their striking similarities in their childlike joy, unspoiled prior to the Eradication. He can't stop himself from grabbing his sister from the wooden shelf and brush his thumb along the edge of the frame that had eternalized her. 

"Do you like it?"

Roger has forgotten John was there at all. He really can't look at him, too enchanted by his sister, his mother and pictures of himself all carefully placed together in one hegemony. 

"I like it," He says carefully around the lump in his throat. "I do."

He hears John sigh in relief some distance away, "Good. That's good."

Roger stays right where he is to admire their new shrine, their family, for a moment longer. He puts Clare back in the exact spot John had picked for her and bends over to study the pictures of John's family again, as if for the first time. They look different when put together with his family. Certainly, they are still the same people, but something about them speaks to him more than they had before. He knows them better, for knowing John and the stories he has told this far. 

Roger doesn't just see three people carrying bits and pieces of John's face, but people who are bits and pieces of John. He sees joy, intelligence, a dry sense of humour in his mother's eyes and a devious grin on his sister's face. 

He could stare at it for hours, perhaps he has. He isn't aware of the time that passes and even when a song starts to play on the scratchy record John must have put on. 

Then the rich smell of food comes creeping from the kitchen into the living room, followed by John, sheepishly stepping up behind him and putting his arms around Roger's waist.

Roger is still looking, in wonder, in sadness, taken aback by something so simple making him so utterly happy. 

John nuzzles the back of his neck after stroking his hair over one shoulder. "Dinner is ready,"

"Give me one more moment," He says, lips barely moving with how numb they are. He leans back against John's chest and brings his hands downwards to clasp onto John's, their fingers lacing together like a jute rope. "You're ridiculous." 

"You're welcome," John whispers, utterly devoted and quiet to match the crooning of the record player and the swelling tide of emotions inside of Roger. 

"I don't know what to say," He squeezes John's hands. He hopes it translates. _Thank you, thank you, thank you, for making my life bearable_. 

He doesn't have to say anything. 

John is still pushed up against him, holding him, when he runs his nose down the soft side of Roger's neck. Although Roger doesn't want to take his eyes off the hearth, he can't help fluttering them shut when John touches him with such tenderness.

John's thumb rub over his knuckles and between them, lingering on the wedding ring, in return he lets his head fall back on John's shoulder and his hands be handled however the Alpha pleases. 

"Tomorrow is the final checkup with Brian," John whispers, miraculously without ruining the moment. "Are you alright?"

He keeps his eyes shut. 

"I'm okay. I'm nervous, but, I'm okay," He thinks about that for a second, about a knife cutting him open and peeling his flesh and muscle tissue aside, Brian's long fingers poking his organs and faulty tissue away. Roger shudders then, so violently that John stops nosing his neck to plant a kiss right where the shoulder and neck connect. "I could be pregnant this time next month."

"Well, with IVF and the pheromones exchange and your ovulation to all line up it might still take a longer- that is not even mentioning the artificial mating, there is plenty time before..."

John trails off. Then his touches disappear. 

Roger turns around to face his Alpha, not sure what to expect. Especially not when John's fascial expression is completely closed off. 

Roger runs his tongue over his suddenly dry lips, fighting for the right thing to say, to deflect, to change the subject. 

He realizes or wishes that he had done more of the reading on everything that was to happen. He had not bothered with all of the pamphlets and the booklets Brian and Crystal thrust at him after every appointment. Most of them describe the same simplified nonsense approved by the reproduction board that tells absolutely nothing of the reality anyway. At some point it becomes more than a little dehumanizing when the Omega gets referred to as baby-carrier without any of the procedures actually explained enough to put him at ease or prepare him.

So Roger had given up on them. Maybe they weren't so bad as the first few he had forced himself to read through. Perhaps he shouldn't have shoved them in the back of his bedside drawer so he could have been more prepared to have these conversations with John. Alas, he hadn't and he isn't anything but ill-prepared for the rest of his life. 

He'd been gaping at John for one moment too long, he knows this, because John steps forward into his personal space again. He holds his breath before John puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his lips subtly curling downwards. 

"I'm not stupid, I'm younger but not stupid. I know that you've been... Indifferent about the whole situation." 

He studies Roger for a reaction, any reaction, all he can do is remain stiff and suck in a shuddering breath. "Did Crystal say anything?"

"No. This was all me I'm afraid." 

Roger isn't sure what to do, to beg for forgiveness or first find out how much John actually knows about his reservations.

He doesn't know what to say, what would reassure John. John seems to realize this at the same time as he does. 

In one measured move, John slips his hand down from Roger's shoulder to hold onto his arm (instead of his still tender wrist). Roger allowed himself to be dragged away from the hearth into the kitchen, where dinner is still simmering in a pan while John had come to fetch him.

He is put in one of the bar stools, not at the dinner table. Roger tries to gather himself while John grabs their bowls and cutlery from the cabinets without slamming any doors or allowing the dishware to clatter. His silence is almost deafening. Roger eyes his straight tensed shoulder blades while John bends over the stew to spoon their bowls full. 

That's when Roger forces himself to speak. "I don't want you to worry," He says, causing John to pause and strain to listen without turning around, Roger continues. "I'm not spooked. I won't run out or anything like that. I _chose_ this life and I chose it with you... I just can't imagine it."

"You can't?" John turns around and puts the bowl of divine smelling stew in front of Roger. 

Roger looks up at him and shrugs, making John smile somewhat bashfully. 

"You can't imagine soft rapid footsteps outside our bedroom door, laughter in the kitchen and singing lullaby songs before bed?" His smile grows, the corners of his eyes wrinkle with the motion, "I can imagine a baby with brown hair and blue eyes, begging to have their cheeks squished because they're so sweet. A little baby that has their parents wrapped around their little finger and wins you over on each turn. The first time you look them in the eye I know that you will forget any and all reservations that you had."

Then he turns back to for his own bowl, giving Roger a moment to rapidly blink his surprise away. 

Because he never thought of children in that way. He knows he loved his sister that way and he could never forget that, but he doubts he could ever possibly feel the same about someone else, even his own. 

It is how John puts a spin on everything that makes him such an immaculate companion and strangely trustworthy. Even if Roger isn't certain his parental instincts will ever kick in, he would fake it for John without skipping a beat. 

When John turns back around with his food and takes a seat next to Roger, nothing about him seems disappointed or upset, the way Roger had imagined he would be. 

Perhaps he had known all along how worried Roger was about the prospect of children and pregnancy. 

John bumps his shoulder against his, kindly. Roger rocks with the motions and the tension bleeds out of him as he digs his spoon into the stew, the insects masked well by the other ingredients. 

"You still can't imagine it?" John repeats after he hooks his ankle around Roger's under the counter. 

"No," Roger's grin widens at the touch, "I _can't_ imagine it. But it won't be long before my imagination doesn't have to cut it anymore."

Before John can make a move, Roger leans over and kisses him on the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you."

"Whatever," John's cheeks colour beautifully after the kiss, he digs into his stew with a little more force. "The least I could do."

Roger doesn't care, he kisses him again, with his mouth full and cheeks puffed out with food. "Thank you."

"Alright, alright, you're welcome," John snorts. Roger lets himself be playfully pushed away, but only to give John enough space to finish his food without choking. 

-

"Alright Roger, you can lay down now and wait for the doctor to come with the anesthesiologist."

Roger struggles his way onto the bed with John's support on his arm and elbow. He is lowered carefully down onto his back until he is blinking up at the blinding fluorescent hospital lights. 

There is no less an awkward way for him to lay down, in every position his legs are too exposed as the gown hikes up. If he lays on his side the first person to walk into the room can see right underneath it and he isn’t wearing underwear. If he lays on his back the gown scratches his ass and his thighs uncomfortably, this position also encourages his stomach flutters with an abundance of nerves. 

"You're alright," John says as soon as the nurse leaves them alone in the prep room. 

Roger turns his head towards him, moving slowly until his cheek rests on the pillow. All his muscles drag sluggishly to comply with his brain. "I'm hungry." 

"I know," John snorts, "but you're alright."

The dizzy spells have kept coming and going all morning. He hasn't been allowed food in the last 24 hours and water in eight, which led him to be excellent company.

His Alpha leans onto the edge of his bed on wheels, soon to be moved into the operation room. Roger lazily curls an arm around John's, 

"Make sure there's food when I wake up."

"They'll have you on liquids for the first recovery day," John whispers fondly at the face Roger pulls. "I don't know why they don't tell you these things." 

"I don't read the booklets."

"They're not all equally useless," John's fingers linger on Roger's temple, he brushes his thumb over the soft patch between his ear and hairline, a spot Roger had never paid attention to before. "But you will be alright."

"So you've said."

There's no knock on the door when Brian enters the prep room in proud strides and his lab coat flowing behind him like a superhero cape. His trusted tablet is perched in the corner of his elbow when he comes to stand next to John like a tall looming presence. 

Roger turns his face enough to squint up at his doctor, who smiles brightly back. 

"Good morning you two, it’s the big day."

"Good morning doctor," John says in the same flat tone he uses for everyone that isn't Roger. It makes Roger smile distractedly, even though he is nauseous with nerves (and hunger). "All set?"

"We are all set indeed, indeed." Brian turns his attention fully on Roger and brings his tablet to life. "How's our superstar today?"

"Peachy," is all Roger can say without dramatically throwing his arm over his face. He's feeling fucking awful and he kind of dreads the idea of having to let go of John's arm. The cold interior and clinical smell that starts clinging to him rapidly is not helping either. 

"Perfectly natural, considering the nature of today's procedure. I promise you I have a steady hand and performed the surgery many many times, painlessly."

Roger thinks about Freddie and how he admitted to being part of the experimental phase of the reproductive program. He recalls the scramble of painful memories in Freddie’s shimmery brown eyes, pools of sorrow bathing in the golden specks. Freddie had endured it, _painfully_. He can endure it too, with less pain. 

"Alright," Brian prompts in his quiet voice, he scrolls down his tablet screen, "everything should be quite in order according to Cassandra's notes- the nurse that is. You've been scrubbed down, shaved, you're in the gown, that's great... No food or water for the past hours, sorry for that."

"You should apologize to John, it's his head I've been biting off."

Brian half turns to John and inclines his head towards him, "My apologies for Roger's dietary restrictions. I assure you, we only ask for what is strictly necessary."

Even John can't help but smile slightly at Brian's joking tone. He gives Roger's arm a squeeze, Roger could melt into the bedding with the tenderness if it weren't for the scratchy gown keeping him uncomfortable. 

"Apology accepted."

"Alright that is all set then," Brian lets the tablet screen go black to give all his attention to Roger. "The procedure is rather straight forward and not overly complicated, as you know."

This time Roger does throw an arm over his face, if only to avoid the eyes of both the doctor and John gazing down at him with equal intensity. Although John is more affectionate, Brian is rather serious. 

Every inch of his body itches at the mere thought of being cut open and prodded in. The area around his belly button is particularly tender to touch, let alone to a sharp knife. 

"I understand that this is your first ever surgery?" Roger answers with one stiff necked nod. Brian continues the head motion with an air of compassion. "It is a rather taxing thing to put the body through, as we have discussed, but it will aid in the progress of getting you both a child."

John squeezes Roger's hand, which had grown clammy during the time Brian had zeroed the attention in on the operation. 

He still isn't looking at either of them. He really rather wouldn't acknowledge that this is happening.

"I will be making a single incision on your lower abdomen,"

Roger's eyes fly open when Brian's finger suddenly presses down on his stomach and draws a line downwards. John is watching the demonstration with fascination, and a bit of terror. "Right, I see."

"No! Not right?" Roger bats Brian's hand away just as a wave of nausea roll over him at the same time as a dizzy spell makes black spots appear on his vision, he bounces back against the pillow with a miserable groan, "that's disgusting."

"It's hardly disgusting," Brian says but keeps his hands to himself for the rest of the recap, directed fully to John. "I will remove the endometrial tissue from the ovaries and fallopian tubes and then remove any excessive scar tissue formed that could cause a blockage too. After the surgery, Roger's fertility should increase and make his chances of a successful pregnancy much higher."

John is nodding, still nodding, although somewhat numb in the motion.

Roger has frozen altogether. Still struck by the feeling of Brian's index finger poking him where a knife will be next. 

"Once the laparotomy is complete, the muscle of the abdominal wall and the overlying skin will be sewn closed and we will have him right back here with you, we'll give him a day to recover here before you get to take him home for the rest of it. I assume you have received and studied the home-recovery instructions?"

"Yes," John adds with the nodding. "Gotten some time off work after they considered the application."

The application was accepted to take Roger home instead of letting him recover alone at the hospital, in case John couldn't get the time off to take care of him properly. A blessing, truly. Roger can’t imagine spending weeks in this dreadful, cold and silent place. 

"It is in the Omegas best interest to heal at home," Brian agrees full heartedly.

"Knock knock!"

Roger sends John a panicked look when another person enters the room, a Beta woman for as far as Roger can tell, in blue scrubs and gloves. Her eyes fall on him immediately and he knows that his time is running out. 

While the woman introduced herself and reconnects with Brian some paces away from the bed, Roger is given John's full attention. Suddenly his hand is clasped between both of John's and drawn closer to him than he should be comfortable with in front of strangers. "You're fine, you're gonna be out of there in no time." 

His lips brush over Roger's knuckles on every word. Roger tries to believe him through his onset of anxiety. 

"Alright."

"Thank you for doing this," John whispers, only then Roger notices how far John is bend over to bed, "thank you."

Roger gives him a watery smile, too scared he'll burst into panicked tears if he speaks another word. 

"Alright Alpha, I need a little room to work with here, thank you."

The Beta anesthesiologist breaks the moment when she hip checks John to the side much to the Alphas dismay. 

Finally, Roger is covered by a blanket that appears to have been spawned out of thin air. He is grateful for the coverup although the gown did not provide, but he eyes John longingly before the woman's body blocks his view to attach him to numerous monitors and whirring machines. 

"I'm Kanda and I will be your anesthesiologist today, how are you feeling?"

Roger tries not to pay attention to what she is doing. Instead, he shuts his eyes to focus on his breathing. "Nervous."

"Nervous, yes. Very natural- this will sting for just a second," she slides an IV drip into his hand in one sleek motion. He can hardly feel it sit there, although the thought of it makes him want to roll over and puke. If she can tell he’s getting sick, Kanda doesn’t seem to care. "The drugs will go into your bloodstream immediately, this way you will be far away from us long before anything of the procedure can actually bother you."

"Good," He says despite already feeling quite bothered. 

Once the IV is in place and all Roger's vitals come back stable and steady, she motions for John to take his place beside him again. 

John follows direction and flies back to Roger’s bedside.

Once he is looking down at Roger though, his eyes go frighteningly wide. Roger snorts at the sight, allowing it to ease the worst of his nerves, "I must be looking quite dramatic now."

"A little, yes," John admits while his eyes scan over Roger and his hair is wrapped up under a plastic cap, his entire body is covered in wires and needles, unblinkingly. 

Roger turns over the hand that is not being used for the anaesthesia and offers it to John. "Could you hold it, please. Just until I fall asleep."

"Of course," John quickly grasps for his hand and clasps it between both of his again without an ounce of embarrassment at the two onlookers in the prep room. "Here, I've got you."

He had to take off his ring for this, but he runs his finger over John's in leeway. 

The woman returns to his other side with an oxygen mask and Brian. Both now wearing gloves and a haircao that is only mildly hilarious over Brian's bush of curls. "Are you ready?"

Roger shrugs for as much as all the machines attached to him, the heart monitor, oxygen measurer, blood pressure attachment and IV, allow. 

"As ready as I can be."

"We will get you through this in one piece," Brian promises with a lively beam before he snaps the blue mask over his mouth and nose. 

Roger doesn't have time to answer before the anesthesia is injected through the IV into his bloodstream by the doctor. 

He distracts himself from panicking by vaguely recalling that back before the Eradication that this wouldn't be the doctor's job, that the room would be swarmed with people to prepare him, but things change. From what he understood each doctor in Nagar perform about sixteen procedures a week aside from tending to their regular patients. Roger believes it’s a lot. 

"Perfect," Kanda slowly lowers the oxygen mask over his face and she keeps it there and instructs him to count down from twenty to zero. 

Roger allows the flood of strange smelling oxygen to overpower him. 

He looks over to John and blinks up heavily at him. "Twenty," he starts. "Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen,"

John caresses the back of his hand with a determined expression on his face. Roger tries to smile back for his sake but then thinks better of it. John can't see it from behind the mask. 

He is vaguely aware that Brian and Kanda are exchanging final words about the surgery, concerning Brian's two assistants standing by or something of the sort. They chuckle heartedly, distracting Roger from counting when the sounds drowsily start to blur together. 

"Sixteen, fifteen... fourteen."

This time when he blinks he struggles to lift his eyes open again. He is still aware of John even when consciousness is starting to fade alongside his nerves. If this is all he's going to feel, he can handle this operation. 

"You'll be alright," is the last thing Roger hears before his hand goes slack in John's grip. "I'll be right here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovies I will be taking a 2-3 week break from updates to make an April fools fic but after that we got the story Really started hehe.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked it

**Author's Note:**

> Hi beauties! Thank you for reading and please leave a comment if you enjoyed it ❤️


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